


Rogers, Psychic Detective

by cleo4u2, xantissa



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU, Bucky Barnes Is Captain America, Food Porn, I don't know what I'm creating, Jealous!Bucky, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, Morning Sex, Mutants aren't well known, Past Steve Rogers/Scott Summers, Proposals, Psychic Visions, Shit is weird, Steve is a mutant, Steve is a psychic detective, Steve was never Captain America, The Avengers are still the Avengers, Xavier is a meddler, bucky pov, it's gonna be a long one, past Bucky/Peggy, prep surprise, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9072631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: In 1941, Bucky Barnes was chosen for Project Rebirth. Back home in New York, Steve Rogers dies of pneumonia leaving the new and improved Captain America heart broken. Over seventy years later, after a long nap in the ice, Bucky is the leader of the Avengers in search of the hidden research of Arnim Zola when in walks Steve Rogers, psychic detective, who looks so much like Bucky's dead Stevie, it's like he's seeing a ghost.





	1. Death is Relative

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the one and only Glow Cloud, [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile). ALL HAIL.

When he started his week, Bucky didn’t expect it to end it trapped in an ancient Egyptian tomb, buried beneath mountains of rock, sheltering the love of his life from said tons of rock. After becoming Captain America in 1941, he had seen some strange things, but none quite as incredible as this particular day. And it all started perfectly normally, the Avengers meeting to see if anyone had drummed up leads on the lost research of Dr. Arnim Zola, that they’d been tipped could have world-altering consequences. Assuming anyone could find it. The Avengers? They weren’t having any luck.

Enter the first weird moment of the day.

“A psychic,” Nat repeated sounding as skeptical as Bucky felt at that moment. Of all the Avengers, she was usually the most practical. “You’re telling me aliens _and_ psychics are real? What’s next, magic?”

Tony blew out a breath, looking cornered and uncomfortable, and Bucky understood all at once.

“It wasn’t your idea,” he said and Tony winced. “Whose, then?”

“Look,” Tony said, stepping forward and holding out his hands palms up, “he comes highly recommended by a friend of Pepper’s and she thought, after how long we’ve been unable to track down Zola’s research, we could use some unconventional help.”

Bucky sighed, but he already knew he would agree. There were few people who could keep Tony Stark in line, which meant he owed Pepper a debt he could never repay. Seeing a psychic? Fine, even if he thought it was ridiculous.

“Unconventional isn’t what I’d call it,” Bruce muttered.

Natasha asked, “Who’s the friend?”

“Professor Charles Xavier,” Tony answered.

“Wait,” Bruce insisted, leaning forward, “I’ve met Charles. He’s arguably smarter than you, Tony.” Looking to the others, he explained, “He has four Ph.D.’s and an M.D. in psychiatry,” then turned back to Tony. “And you’re telling me he believes in psychics?”

Tony threw his hands into the air.

“Apparently.”

“How’s Pepper know this Professor?” Bucky asked.

Waving his hand dismissively, Tony said, “I’ve consulted with him on a few projects. They had coffee and became friends. Everyone loves Pepper. Not important. Please? Just…let him talk to us for a while. It’ll just be some stupid tricks we’ll see through and then he’ll go home. Okay?”

“I have better ways to spend my time,” Natasha said flatly.

From the looks on the faces of the Avengers seated at the table, everyone felt the same way. After the Battle of New York, they had seen a lot together as a team. However, aliens were one thing, but psychics and magic? That was too much for them to swallow.

Well, almost everyone. Clint had crossed his arms and leaned back, his head lowered a fraction. The posture of a man not willing to voice his opinion when it was obviously unpopular. Over the last few years, Bucky had found the archer quiet, but he’d yet to find a time he didn’t appreciate his input.

“Clint?” Bucky said, swiveling just a little in his chair. Whoever had invented swivel chairs was a fucking genius. “You have something to say?”

The Avengers’ resident archer took a breath, steeling himself as if for battle.

“I grew up with the circus, you all know that. That’s why I can say definitively that most psychics are all parlor tricks and superstition, but not…everything is so easy to explain. Magic, psychics, aliens,” Clint waved toward Bucky, “surviving seventy years in the ice? It was all equally ridiculous a few years ago. Yet, here we are.”

“Please?” Tony pleaded. “He’s already here. Pepper invited him, did a background check. Xavier is a little kooky, but he actually is really smart…”

Stark trailed off as the conference door opened. All the Avengers swiveled to look, tension rising in the air because only so many people had the code to the punch pad. Bucky relaxed quickly because, while there was a stranger, Pepper was at his side. Only, she was staring at the tall, blond, blue-eyed, muscled American dream in a three piece suit with her mouth hanging open. The suit fit him perfectly, grey with a dark blue button up beneath, emphasising the broad stretch of his shoulders atop a torso that tapered down to a waist women would envy. He stood with the calm, measured demeanor of a man who knew how to handle himself in combat, and wasn’t intimidated despite the presence of the Avengers.

What caught Bucky’s attention was that shock was certainly not an expression Bucky had ever seen Pepper wear.

“Pep?” Tony asked, his voice strained, but curious.

“Oh,” the stranger interjected, his voice low and oddly familiar to Bucky who knew so few people in the future, “please don’t blame Ms. Potts. I opened the door. I just wanted to let you know, you don’t have to discuss it any more, as I won’t be taking the job.” Bucky realized his own jaw was hanging open as the ‘psychic’ turned back to Pepper and offered his hand along with a sincere, “It was lovely to meet you, ma’am. Please, don’t hesitate to call me again for any personal matters.”

Though Pepper took his hand and shook it, she looked as dumbstruck as ever, lending credence to the statement that the ‘psychic’ had opened the door without her help.

“H-hang on,” Tony said, hurrying forward with his hand outstretched. When the ‘psychic’ stopped, he drew it back and rubbed at his goatee. “How did you know the pad code?”

The frown on the ‘psychic’s’ face said Tony was stupid for asking the question, but the answer still took Bucky by surprise.

“Your girlfriend’s birthday isn’t very original, Mr. Stark. It was a very easy guess.”

“How did you know my birthday?” Pepper asked, smiling now, clearly impressed. Under normal circumstances, Bucky would have said it took a lot to impress the new CEO of Stark Industries. After today, Bucky hoped he wouldn’t have to re-evaluate his opinion of her.

The smile the ‘psychic’ gave was strained.

“I could have Googled it,” he said, “but, ah, Mr. Stark forgot it again last week and you're still upset he hasn't remembered yet.”

Bucky hadn't seen Tony turn that many colors in a long time. Classy as always, Pepper just raised a sculpted eyebrow at him. The psychic didn’t wait a moment longer before attempting his exit again.

“Right, so if you’ll excuse me…”

Though the man turned his back, Bucky couldn’t help himself because making both Tony and Pepper surprised? That wasn’t something you saw every day. Even if the guy was just a shyster, he was a good one, and maybe he’d have an idea of where Zola had hidden his research that wasn’t completely full of shit. It wasn’t like they had anything else to go on.

It didn’t hurt that he looked a little like Steve.

“Why don’t you want the job?” Bucky called.

It didn’t surprise Bucky when the man stopped, shoved his hands into his pockets and half-turned back. What did was that he wasn’t making eye contact with Bucky. Hell, the guy hadn’t looked his way for a moment. It was weird; people usually loved to meet Captain America. What was even stranger was the way his brows drew down, pinching in an expression that made his face look suddenly so much like Steve’s it sent an ache through Bucky’s chest. No matter how long it had been, how many years, knowing Steve hadn’t survived a year after he had become Captain America never got easier, because Bucky had never stopped loving him.

“You’re not chasing ghosts, James,” the psychic - and Bucky realized he had taken the quotations from the title - stated calmly, “You’re chasing monsters, the things that watch from the shadows, and I am…not a hero. I want nothing to do with the coming storm.”

Pepper frowned.

“Mr. Rogers,” Bucky jerked in his chair as Pepper said the name, “then why did you even come?”

“Who would refuse an invitation to Stark Tower?”

The psychic smiled, bright and shiny, but Bucky knew it was false. Maybe because it was what that expression had meant on his Steve. This man was so much bigger than his Steve; broader, healthier, stronger, and taller. He couldn’t have the same expressions as Steve, but Bucky couldn’t help his gut feeling.

”That's not the reason,” Bucky said evenly. “You're afraid of what you're seeing, but you saw something new that’s made you panic.”

Everyone looked at him then, even the psychic, and Bucky felt like he had been sucker-punched as he got his first look at the man straight on. Those were Steve’s eyes; the same clear, brilliant blue. Those were his lips, his nose, even if the rest was different, stretched over the bones of this larger, stronger version. The man Steve might have grown into if they’d had the money, the medicine, to keep him healthy and fed as a child. Of course, his Steve was dead. Had died the same year Bucky had joined Project Rebirth. Hell, he'd died not even knowing that Bucky was still close, just over in New Jersey.

“So _you_ believe this now?” Bruce asked slowly, as if unsure of his footing.

“You said there was a storm coming,” Bucky prompted the psychic, ignoring Bruce, who could be unreasonably grumpy on occasion.

“Yes,” Rogers nodded, hands back in his pockets, “Everyone in the community has seen it, but this is the first time I’ve seen its center. The Avengers, battling a dragon for the fate of the world. A tipping point.”

“A dragon,” Tony said skeptically.

The psychic gave Tony a disappointed look.

“It's a metaphor, Mr. Stark. If it was easy to change the future, nothing would ever go wrong.”

“Like Nine-Eleven.”

Rogers scowled fiercely.

“I don’t pretend to understand the cosmos,” Rogers answered seriously, “If you’d like an explanation of why we fail to stop significant disasters, I suggest you consult with Dr. Stephen Strange.”

“The neurosurgeon?” Tony demanded, as clearly thrown as Bucky was, which was rare in and of itself. Someone who could keep Tony on his toes, though? That was someone Bucky would like to see stick around.

“Sure,” was the psychic’s answer. “Now, if you’re all finished…?” One of the psychic’s long-fingered, artist hands gestured toward the door. “You have what I know.”

“Coward,” Pepper said softly.

Bucky stared, enraptured, as this Rogers reacted just like his own Steve. Both his shoulders came up, his spine snapping steel straight. He turned slowly on his heel, looking at Pepper like she had just grown a second head.

“Excuse me?” Rogers said softly.

“You heard me,” she said, her head held high, “You realized I wanted you to talk to the Avengers, to Captain America, and you thought it was best to tuck tail and run. Natasha doesn’t believe in what you can do, but I do, and so does Bucky, and Clint. Help us. You can help us.”

Clearly agitated, Rogers shoved a hand through his hair.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Rogers protested, hands stuffing back into his pockets defensively, “I see images, shadows, dreams and shapes of things. Surface thoughts, not… I don’t know where he is.”

“He who?” Bruce asked curiously. “Pepper, have you briefed…?”

“Of course not,” Pepper said sharply, affronted.

Rogers tilted his head to the side, as if listening.

“Arnim Zola. You’re looking for him.”

Natasha snorted and Bruce chuckled while Tony glanced down at his feet. They weren’t looking for the good doctor himself, so that was one test the psychic had failed. With this crowd - two scientists and Mrs. Practicality herself - Rogers wouldn’t be given many chances to prove himself.

“Arnim Zola has been dead for decades,” Bruce said, “We’re searching for his research.”

Once again, Steve’s eyes returned to Bucky.

“Because the dead don’t come back to life.”

The chuckling stopped. Several eyes glanced his way, reminded of Bucky’s miraculous recovery. Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his own abilities something out of legend. Like Clint had said, they had all experienced the incredible over the past few years, not least of all was meeting two gods.

“You’re saying he’s not dead?” Clint clarified.

“I am saying that death is relative,” Rogers answered slowly, looking so intently at Bucky that the answer felt to be for him alone, “as is life. Arnim is…” Rogers finally broke eye contact, looking to Clint and waggling his hand side-to-side. “What I see is neither life or death, but you are looking for _him_.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Natasha demanded.

Storm clouds gathered on Rogers’ face, his arms wrapping tightly about his chest.

“I would prefer not to discuss those things that relate to me, personally.”

“Well, see,” Tony said amicably, “that’s the kind of thing you have to tell your teammates. It’s hard to keep each other safe when we don’t know all the facts.”

“I’m sorry?” Rogers said, confusion blowing away the stormy expression.

“Look,” Tony said bluntly, “either you’re crazy, or you know something. If you’re not crazy, the world is ending and we need to get a jump on that. We are literally spinning our tails here on our own, so point us, psychic.”

“Please,” Bucky added politely. This new century had taught him being polite wouldn't kill him, and could earn him unexpected cooperation instead.

“I’m still not convinced you’re on the level,” Natasha interjected, which in Natasha-speak was ‘I want to keep an eye on you.’ “So work with us. Pepper isn’t wrong; we need all the help with we can get at the moment.”

Steve’s eyes bored into Natasha and their indifferent assassin actually shifted uncomfortably. That gaze moved on to Tony, Bruce, Clint, and Pepper, but didn’t return to Bucky. Irrationally, jealousy welled up in Bucky’s chest. Irrational, because this wasn’t his Steve. His love was long dead.

“Okay,” Rogers finally said, his voice quiet and solemn. “Let’s save the world.”


	2. Hopefully Metaphorical Dragons

It turned out that Rogers was an artist. When Tony asked for a better description of what he was seeing, he’d pulled a notebook out of his inner coat pocket and sat down to sketch it. Considering Rogers had only been drawing for less than an hour, Bucky was impressed. However, the image itself was unsettling. In quick, precise strokes, a dragon appeared, perched atop what appeared to be a pyramid. Its many heads bit and snapped, fangs somehow gleaming slick on the page at the detailed renderings of the Avengers, not including Thor. It was detailed enough, he almost couldn’t believe it was a metaphor, but dragons?

God, please, not dragons.

“Who’s that?” Bucky asked.

Rogers leaned over. Tapping the page, Bucky pointed to what appeared to be an angel flying through the sky. Except, if Bucky was seeing correctly, the angel was shooting bullets at the dragon. Though he hadn’t gone to church in a long time - since Steve died, actually - Bucky was pretty sure angels didn’t fire guns.

He was also pretty damn sure there was no such thing as dragons.

“I’d be guessing, you realize?” Rogers hedged.

Considering the confidence the psychic had displayed until then, Bucky wasn’t about to let him get away with that. However, he would take into account that Rogers wasn’t one hundred percent certain of his answer.

“Go ahead,” Bucky urged.

“Sam Wilson,” Rogers said simply. “Air Force Pararescue. He lives in D.C. now and he’s a friend of mine from my Army days.”

“Why Sam?” Natasha instantly demanded, definitely not on board with the whole psychic thing.

Returning to his sketching, Rogers’ answer was simple, “These things are usually connected. There were only so many EXO-7 Falcon wings made. Fewer people trained to use them. The chances that I know one of those pararescuemen and them _not_ being in my vision are slim.”

“Coincidence,” Bruce stated, a note of derision in his tone.

Rogers just nodded, as if Bruce wasn’t trying to poke holes in his every sentence.

“Exactly. I think it’s how the cosmos protects itself. Why believe in the supernatural if it’s all just one big coincidence? Luck? Happenstance? In my line of work, there are nothing _but_ coincidences.”

“And what is it you do, exactly, Mr. Rogers?” Tony asked. “Besides get people in trouble with their significant others.”

“I didn’t cause that situation, Mr. Stark,” Rogers answered amicably, “Ms. Potts was already angry when I arrived.”

Holding in a laugh, Bucky ducked as Tony glared, but not before he saw the way Rogers’ lips curled up in amusement.

“To answer your actual question, I’m a consultant. Sort of like a private detective, only I’m psychic and the police call on me for more than just bail jumpers.” Without seemingly any warning, he sighed and stopped sketching to rub at his temples. “Mr. Stark, please, it isn’t my fault and a bunch of flowers aren’t going to cut it. The woman feels neglected and she has every right to. You have to make it up to her, not half-ass an apology and hope throwing money her way fixes your problem.”

The conference room fell quiet as Rogers stopped trying to chase away his headache and fetched a bottle of prescription pills from his pocket. Bucky’s stomach was swooping and diving, this seeming evidence stronger than any the psychic had shown so far. Then again, he cautioned himself, maybe he just really wanted to believe in the supernatural so that his Steve wasn’t possibly as gone as he’d thought.

“Also, could you please think quietly? I’ve never met anyone with thoughts as loud as yours.”

This time, Bucky couldn’t stop himself from laughing and Tony’s glare went his way.

“Ha ha, Cap,” Tony grumbled.

“You can hear our thoughts?” Clint demanded.

Rogers gave him an unimpressed look.

“If you want coffee so bad, just go get some, and I agree, he has a very nice ass.”

“Who?” Tony demanded and there was no doubt he was hoping it was his own. Tony actually had a fairly nice ass, but Bucky would never tell him so. Saying anything to inflate the billionaire's ego was treading dangerous waters. Of course, Bucky was curious as well, mostly because he wanted it to be his ass the psychic found appealing. Neither Clint, nor Rogers, seemed apt to answer, however. The former flushed while the later just smirked in triumph.

It was so much like Steve, so very much like…

“I’m not him,” Rogers said flatly, popping a pill into his mouth and returning to his sketch.

Bucky felt sucker punched yet again, before he remembered everything he had seen, his conviction that Rogers was so very much like his Steve.

 _‘So it’s just a coincidence,_ ’ Bucky thought, and felt vindicated when Rogers glared at him.

“What am I thinking, then?” Natasha asked. Leaning back in her chair, she put a foot on Clint’s armrest and crossed her arms. The expression on her face could only be described as challenging. She still didn’t believe in Rogers’ abilities, and wouldn’t until he proved them to her satisfaction.

Sighing, Rogers looked up at Natasha, tilted his head to the side like Bucky had seen him do once before, and then frowned.

“I don’t speak Russian. If you’re trying to test me - something I tire of easily, by the way - why don’t you picture an image.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky started, but Rogers held up a hand, palm up, and bobbed it in the air.

“It’s fine,” Rogers said, “Normally, I’d ignore the challenge, but if we’re working together I feel it’s fair. After all, I could have seen Clint stare at your ass,” Clint sputtered, “or Natasha’s coffee cup, and it’s not much of a leap to think a man who forgets his girlfriend’s birthday would try to make up for it with as little effort as possible. It’s fair to…”

Rogers’ head whipped toward Natasha, his face going completely pale. The blue eyes, Steve’s eyes, went wide with horror and shock, the hand holding the pencil trembling on the page. Bucky hadn’t a clue what Natasha had pictured, but he could guess.

“Please stop,” Rogers whispered.

Both Natasha’ feet thumped onto the carpet and she stood, smooth and lithe, before striding toward the conference door. Like he’d been released from gunpoint, Rogers bowed over his sketchbook, taking his face in his hands. They still shook, and Bucky couldn’t hold himself back and keep his distance. He slipped from his seat and moved to Rogers’ side, squeezing his shoulder and feeling his stomach flutter when the psychic leaned into his touch.

“Natasha?” Bruce called, startled.

“Is he legit?!” Tony shouted.

Bucky heard her pause at the door, but his focus was on Rogers. The fine tremble in his limbs that suggested whatever Natasha had showed him had been terrible. Considering all she had been through, her past as an assassin, it could have been any number of terrible things. That Natasha had gotten up to leave said it was personal, whatever it was, and Rogers’ reaction made her uncomfortable.

“Yes,” was all Natasha said before continuing on her way.

“Mr. Rogers,” Clint started, paused and, weirdly, the psychic laughed.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, wiping at his eyes with the hand not holding his pencil, “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood really messed with my childhood, and I find anyone calling me Mr. Rogers just as weird as you do saying it. Just call me Steve.”

The name was like a cold splash of water down Bucky’s spine. Steve Rogers, with Steve’s eyes, Steve’s expressions, and an artist. What else was the same? How many more coincidences would there be? And why wasn’t Steve responding to Bucky’s thoughts? Was that, in itself, a clue?

“Are you all right, Steve?” Bruce asked as Bucky’s thoughts spun, and his hand reached of its own accord to clamp down on Steve’s shoulder.

“I helped the NYPD catch a serial killer once,” Steve said as way of answer, “Sat next to him on a subway, listened to him relive cutting up his last victim over and over. That wasn’t even as bad as the serial pedophile I met at a picnic.” Sniffling, Steve wiped one last time at his eyes. “These kinds of things, Dr. Banner, they come with the territory. If I couldn’t deal with it, I’d have gone insane before I was five.”

“There’s a lot more of what Natasha showed you in all of us,” Clint said warningly.

Bucky’s heart squeezed when Steve smiled at the archer, so very familiar and beautiful. If anything, the smile somehow brighter on this bigger body.

“It’s what gives you strength. Don’t be afraid of your darkness; I’m not.”

Briefly, Steve touched Bucky’s hand, and then curled back over his drawing. The touch was like lightning, but reminded Bucky that others were present and he reluctantly withdrew to his own seat again. It was just…surreal, having a man so close who looked so similar to his Steve, who had his name, and his voice. This really _wasn’t_ his Steve, though. His Steve, if he had lived, would be well into his nineties. This Steve looked barely thirty. Then there was the whole psychic aspect, the similar expressions, and that smile…

“You okay?” Bruce asked, voice surprisingly gentle.

Bucky looked over to watch the prescription bottle disappearing into his pocket again.

“You’re all very loud,” Steve answered.

Since Bucky wasn’t the only one who blushed, he didn’t feel nearly as bad. Tony, Clint, and Pepper all flushed along with him. Curiosity flared in his chest as he wondered just what his teammates had been thinking about.

“Yes, migraines,” Steve answered somebody’s unspoken question. Then, without looking up, “I try not to; answering before the question is asked tends to unsettle people, but I’m honestly past the point where I much care. If you don’t like me here, I’ll go.”

The very thought made Bucky’s stomach clench. Thankfully, the only one who could read him like a book had left. Chalk one up for Team Cap. Unless… Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve Rogers, because if Steve was so done, he really _was_ ignoring Bucky’s thoughts.

“This is a really great drawing,” Bruce said, “but it doesn’t give us any answers.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve said dryly, “We’ve been seeing that vision for months now. How it fits in with Zola,” one shoulder rose and fell, “It’s all metaphors and lynch pins…”

“There’s a void,” Tony interjected. “You’re leaving something out.”

The scritching of Steve’s pencil stopped, blue eyes growing unfocused. The room went quiet when as he unfroze, carefully setting down the pencil and meeting Tony’s dark gaze. His Steve had never learned to control himself quite so perfectly, and seeing it in this Steve made his heart clench oddly.

“My future is none of your business,” Steve said calmly, “as I said when I agreed to assist with your troubles.”

The tension didn’t ease in the room at all. Bucky thought maybe he should say something, but he didn’t know what. If Steve didn’t want them to know, he wasn’t sure they had the right to make him tell them.

“If it’s in your vision,” Clint said slowly, “they’re your troubles, too.”

“I'm not even sure I'm on board with this whole… _thing_ ,” Tony said, “but if it's real, we need to see the whole picture. Lynch pins and metaphors, right?”

When Steve hesitated, Bucky knew Tony had a hit close to home.

“Steve,” he said, and those blue eyes were on him in a heartbeat, nearly taking his breath away with how much he _knew_ them, “you can trust us.”

Letting out a breath, Steve held his hand out for the drawing.

“All right, I’ll show you.

\----

“You’re staring.”

Bucky started, looking over at Tony who had rolled up beside him on his swivel chair. Seriously, wheels on chairs, brilliant. However, he was aware he _was_ staring at Steve Rogers, their very own psychic detective. Even now, he wanted to look back despite having only looked away for a few seconds. A part of him was afraid if he looked away for too long, he’d turn back to find there really was nothing of his Steve in this younger version.

“And now you’re looking guilty as hell,” Tony said, leaning forward. “What about our new friend has you so fascinated, Cap?”

“Well…” Bucky wasn’t sure how he was supposed to answer. He looks like my dead lover? They didn’t even know he was gay, let alone that had even existed. Just thinking about it had always been so painful.

“Uh huh,” Tony said as if Bucky had managed words, “Now _you’re_ being stared at.”

Bucky’s head snapped in Steve’s direction to find those brilliant blue eyes fixed upon him. Mouth going dry, he could only stare back. Off to one side, against the conference room windows, Pepper, Bruce and Clint were conferring about lunch, so it was only Steve, Bucky, and Tony to witness what was happening. Not that Bucky could quite tell what _was_ happening, except Steve wasn’t giving away his secret, and Bucky knew he had heard, or however the fuck that worked.

“Reading, hearing,” Steve said, dropping his eyes back to his sketch, “both, and yet neither.”

“Is he talking to you?” Tony asked. “Because I’m starting to wonder if he doesn’t just say shit and let the rest of us wonder who thought it, when no one actually did.”

Steve snorted, lifting his pencil a moment until he had gotten a hold of himself. It was adorable and then he _blushed_. Holy crap, Bucky hadn’t seen anything more captivating in this entire millennium. Blue eyes glanced back at him, flicking from beneath long, pale lashes, and Bucky swallowed hard.

“Well, well,” Tony drawled, “I didn’t know you swung that way, mon Capitan. You would make my entire childhood if I could talk you into -”

“Stop talking, Tony,” Steve said evenly.

This Steve had learned to direct that quiet fire that had always burned within his Steve. Bucky was more than a little enchanted, he was rapidly growing enamored. He’d loved his Steve, with every fibre of his being, but this Steve was so much _more_.

“Too much?” Tony asked, spreading his hands to the sides and wincing just a little.

“You finish that sentence and he’ll punch your teeth out, if Pepper doesn’t get to you first.” Steve looked over to the woman in question, standing with her arms crossed, one elegant eyebrow raised dangerously. “Is it all right if I call you Pepper?”

Turning to him, she favored Steve with a warm smile.

“If I may call you Steve?”

“I’d be honored,” Steve said, returning the smile before putting pencil to paper once more.

Tony lowered his voice, not that it mattered when Steve was _psychic_ \- and snickering at Bucky’s internal monologue - and said, “So, I know you can charm the pants off the ladies, so are you bi, or what?” When Bucky gave him a long look, he said, “All right, or what. So is that why you’re staring? I mean, that is one heck of a specimen.”

“Specimen?” Bucky repeated.

“Really attractive, hot, swell, the bee’s knees, a snazzy guy, sex on legs, a dreamboat, muscle-bound ho-”

Both Tony’s eyebrows shot into his hairline when Bucky covered his mouth with his hand, but at least he shut up.

“I get it,” Bucky said dryly, “and no, that’s not why.” He took his hand away.

“Then…?” Tony prompted, gesturing emphatically for Bucky to explain.

Closing his eyes, Bucky debated answering. Tony would call him crazy, Natasha would just suspect Steve even more. He had no idea what Bruce, Pepper, or Clint would do. It wasn’t exactly a scenario he had ever encountered. He _had_ considered telling them about Steve, the advances in civil rights for people like him hadn’t escaped his notice, but he’d never quite gotten around to it. They weren’t exactly a very open, sharing group of people, always keeping their cards close to their chests.

When he opened his eyes again, Steve was once again watching him, waiting for him to make a decision. From the look on his face, if he wasn’t insane reading those expressions like he would his Stevie’s, there was only one that would satisfy him. Of course, Bucky didn’t know what that would be. He wasn’t the mind reader.

“I was in love once,” Bucky said quietly, “A little slip of a thing. Shorter ‘n’ even you.” Tony didn’t rise to the bait, sensing he wouldn’t get another shot at the story most likely. “Sick all the time, but a fighter. Knock a guy’s teeth in for lookin’ at a dame wrong, though most of the time I ended up having to finish his fights. Not for lack of spirit, right? No, he’d get up again, no matter how many times he was knocked down. It was just,” Bucky smiled because it was that or cry, “his body wasn’t built to house his heart.”

“Sounds like a great guy,” Tony said staring at Bucky even as Bucky stared at Steve.

“His name was Steve Rogers,” Bucky said, “and he died in 1941.”

“Steve…” Tony began, looking at the Steve Rogers sitting in the room with them.

“Yep,” Bucky said, twisting his head as he did, “Blond, blue-eyed. Mighta looked just like that, if he hadn’t been so sickly as a kid.”

Tony sat back in his chair, and Steve returned to his drawing.

“That’s why you believe,” Tony said, putting a strange emphasis on the word ‘believe’.

Bucky nodded, pushing his hand through his hair, forgetting it was tied back. The strands tugged free of their pony tail, flying messily about his face. Sighing, he removed his hair tie, then pulled his hair back to bind it again.

“They’re his eyes, Tony,” Bucky said seriously, “He makes these faces and I know them. How he’ll react, but he’s… Not him, because he’s dead.”

“Huh,” was all Tony said before pushing off of the floor and rolling to the other end of the table where Steve was sitting. Before he could speak, though, Steve handed Tony the enhanced sketch.

“Oh. What’s…?” Tony rolled back to the middle of the room. “Oh. Oh, I see. Do I? I think I see.”

Slapping the sketch onto a projector, he flicked his fingers in the air and the drawing appeared on the television. The void, right in the middle of the drawing, was filled in with intricate detail. Steve, standing back to back with a short, chubby man with wire rim glasses that Bucky recognized right away. Arnim Zola, his wrist bound to Steve’s. Bound together at the wrist, beneath the dragon’s foot, about to be crushed.

Clint let out a low whistle.

“No wonder you didn’t want to talk about it,” Bruce said sarcastically, “Being stepped on by a metaphorical dragon is no joke.”

Steve glanced at him with no little irritation, before looking away. The dismissal only made Bruce angrier.

“This is nonsense,” Bruce insisted, “It’s all a trick. Don’t you see? He’s playing it up, adding mystery when there isn’t one by hiding this in the first place. Somehow, he found out about Cap’s ex, set this up, and -”

“They’re bound together by Wyrd,” Tony interrupted, actually ignoring Bruce and focusing on Bucky, “See? Here? Nine staves laid together to form the Nordic symbol for Wyrd, fate, written by the Norns on Yggdrasil.”

“Of course, Yggdrasil,” Bruce threw up his hands, “Nordic symbolism? Thor? Anyone keeping up with me? Tony, come on, you gotta see this is all an act.”

Pepper moved to Bruce’s side as Bucky tried to think of anything that might convince him believe. Then again, as Bucky had just admitted, he wasn’t exactly in a position to posit a rational argument. He believed in Steve Rogers because he was so much like the man Bucky had lost.

“Bruce,” she said gently, “this isn’t helping. Steve is here to help. More importantly, he’s not going anywhere, so if you can’t get along, perhaps you should join Natasha.”

Shoving his hands through his hair in agitation, Bruce snapped, “This is insane. There is no proof that this is real.”

“Dr. Banner,” Steve said very softly, his eyes on his hands as, in Bucky’s eyes, he held his temper in check, “are you sure you want proof?”

Everyone in the room stared at Steve, then at Bruce. Well, everyone except for Tony, who was inspecting the drawing and muttering to himself. Tony, at least, was on board, though Bucky really wasn’t sure what had convinced him. Clint and Pepper had been from the start, Natasha joining the bandwagon before she’d left, which only left Bruce. Bucky needed him on board, needed them all to work together and not repeat the scene with Loki’s scepter.

“What?” Bruce asked angrily. “You want me to think of something for you to guess? Go ahead, let’s see your party trick again.”

Steve folded his hands tightly together, raising his gaze to Bruce’s.

“It makes you angry, knowing you can’t die. That you fell 32,000 feet and didn’t die. That you put a gun in your mouth, pulled the trigger, but it didn’t work. You’re angry, because you’re afraid. You’re afraid because -”

Steve stopped, halted abruptly, before Bucky could even open his mouth to demand enough. Padding forward, he laid his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, like Pepper had on the other. Their doctor was staring at Steve with unconcealed rage and shock. Horror, very nearly.

“How do you know that?” Bruce demanded, his voice shaking.

“You thought it,” Steve said quietly, “When I said that death is relative, you thought, ‘Or impossible.’”

“You hear… _everything_?” Bruce asked, his voice a tense whisper.

“Everything,” Steve answered solemnly.

Everyone was silent, staring at the two men, watching their stand-off. The only sound in the room was their voices and Tony’s mutterings. Their resident genius hadn’t noticed the goings on, the tension, talking to himself as he examined the drawing, zooming in on it, pulling up new screens to reference other material. Bucky was only peripherally aware of it, his focus on his friend and…new colleague? Whatever Steve was to him.

“I’ve got it!” Tony burst out.

Spinning, grinning and excited, the smile vanished from his face as he took in the scene.

“Uh,” Tony tugged at his ear, “What did I miss?”


	3. Questions Without Answers

“Well,” Tony said, recovering quickly to bounce upon the balls of his feet, “if this little show is over, I have actual important information to discuss.”

Bruce waved a hand at Tony, signalling him to continue. Knowing the man hated to be coddled, Bucky dropped his hand from his shoulder, but didn’t move away. No matter what he wanted them to think, Bruce didn’t look all right. Steve’s words had affected him, shaken his very view of the world, not to mention aired thoughts he likely hadn’t wanted them to know about. They all knew he struggled with the Other Guy, but to mention aloud his continued thoughts of suicide was another matter entirely. A matter Bucky was honestly unsure how to broach again, though he thought he should. Later, in private.

Steve was the first to react to Bruce’s non-verbal agreement to return to the topic at hand.

“It’s very fascinating, Tony,” Steve said, turning to face Tony. “Give me a moment to think while you explain it to the others.”

“That,” Tony said, pointing at Steve, “is creepy.” Clapping his hands, he turned back to Bucky and the others standing opposite the table from Steve. “All right, boys and girl - lady - wonderfully beautiful darling.” Pepper rolled her eyes and Tony grinned. “Here’s what our visionary sees.” Turning towards the hologram he somehow made the dragon light up. “Big bad, trying to take over the world, yada yada. Our group of heroes,” the Avengers and the angel lit up blue, “fight the big bad, and as the man said it’s a tipping point, so winner takes all. 

“Center stage we have Steve and Arnim Zola,” Tony’s hands danced the pair lit up in purple, “ _not_ about to be stepped on. Our dragon is _reaching_ for them. That will be the tipping point. Grab Zola, we have one world, Steve the other.” Tony held his hand up in the air, swaying it from side to side as if it was the same tipping point as Steve had. “Which is which? Okay, that I don’t actually know, _however!_ This is the important bit I noticed.”

Waving his hands in the air, Tony made the existing highlights vanish. One by one, JARVIS traced new lines, this time in red, from each of the Avengers to Steve. Another line traced to the dragon itself, and a seventh to Steve’s friend. Seven radiating lines branched across the drawing, like a star with Steve at the center, but missing an arm. At the end of each point - in Sam Wilson’s clothes, Bucky’s cowl, Tony’s suit, even in the scales of the dragon - was a symbol. Squigly and meaningless - one looked like a sideways J for Christ’s sake - the red symbol imposed over the drawing told Bucky nothing. Of course, that meant Tony spun around, hands in the air, triumphant, expecting them to understand.

Before Bucky could so much as glance at the others and their similarly confused expressions, Steve said, “They don’t understand. Tell them what it means.”

Tony rolled his eyes. Slashing his hand through the air, he brought up several more screens, making the drawing with its red symbol smaller.

“One of the Keys of Solomon the King?” Tony asked, but that made even less sense to Bucky. If it hadn’t looked exactly like the drawing now floating to the left of Tony’s head he wouldn’t have had any point of reference at all. “The Sixth Pentacle of Mars? Nothing? Come _on_ , people.” 

Looking almost desperate, Tony turned to Bucky. 

“Psalm 37:14 to 15?”

Bracing an arm over his chest, Bucky felt relieved to at least know the answer to that. Though the Catholic Church was far less popular these days than it had been when he was growing up, he was proud of his heritage. Still went to Mass and remembered his Bible lessons and Sunday School classes.

“The wicked draw the sword and bend the bow to bring down the poor and needy,” Bucky recited, “to slay those whose ways are upright. But their swords will pierce their own hearts, and their bows will be broken.”

“Yes!” Tony crowed. “How do you know _that_ and don’t know about the Keys of Solomon?”

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted, “If I may, Captain Barnes was raised Catholic. The Keys of Solomon are pagan in nature.”

“Tony,” Pepper said sharply, “stop showboating and explain.”

“Fine, fine,” Tony said, “See, the Sixth Pentacle of Mars -”

“It’s missing an arm,” Clint interrupted. When Bucky looked to him, he gestured to the drawing with it’s hovering red pentagram and the one next to Tony’s head. “That one has eight lines. Steve’s has seven. One of the arms missing; the one with the parenthesis.”

Sure enough, when Bucky examined the two, the missing arm he’d noticed before was in the original image Tony had pulled from the Internet.

“Well spotted, bird-boy,” Tony said, pointing and smiling at Clint. “It is, indeed, missing an arm. So that brings us to what I noticed. Show ‘em, JARVIS.” 

On command, the original drawing was blown up again, and the eighth arm was traced to a woman who appeared to be cowering on the street. Drawn in detail like everyone else, she had long hair, large, soulful eyes, and appeared to be ducking behind her hands, as if protecting her head. Except, now that Bucky looked closer, if she was covering her head, her palms would be inward. They weren’t, they were outward, as if she was trying to push the nonexistent debris away.

“Her,” Tony said, pointing to the woman. “Like Steve’s mystery falcon whatever -”

“Sam,” Steve supplied.

“- Sam, sure.” Tony waved a dismissive hand. “She’ll be with us at the tipping point. Whoever she is. Any ideas?” No one answered and Bucky looked around to find everyone glancing at each other. No one seemed to know who she was. “No one?”

“I don’t know her either,” Steve said when Tony’s gaze fell on him, “However, I think I may know where to start. I recognize the Keys of Solomon, but I know someone who knows them even better, who may be able to tell us how magic is supposed to play a part in all this.”

“Magic?” Bruce asked, sounding desperate. “Psychics and magic?”

Steve turned to him, giving Bruce an apologetic smile.

“The universe is far more complicated than you imagined, Dr. Banner.”

Still on Bruce’s other side, Pepper quoted, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

“Exactly!” Tony crowed, over excited and raring to understand this new thing placed before him. Hurrying forward, squeezing between Bucky and Bruce so that Bucky had to step back, Tony slung his arm over Bruce’s shoulders. “It’s going to be amazing. Not that we can publish any papers or anything on it, but amazing. Just you wait and see.”

Tentatively, Bruce smiled.

“All right.”

Looking from Tony to Steve, Bucky asked, “Where do we start, then?”

When Steve’s gaze turned to him, Bucky would have liked to say he didn’t stand a little straighter, but he did.

“We?” Steve asked quietly.

“We,” Bucky repeated firmly, though he then held his breath until Steve spoke again.

“Agatha Harkness. She runs a mystic shop in Lower Manhattan, near Tompkin’s Square Park. They’re generally closed on Fridays, but we,” Bucky let himself breathe, “can go see her tomorrow. You can pick me up at eight in the morning.”

“That sounds almost like a date, Steve,” Pepper said with a teasing smile. Bucky, however, could see the steel in her gaze and felt his heart squeeze. She was worried about him.

The calm, collected demeanor Steve had crafted fell apart like a wet paper towel under Pepper’s accusation. Just like his Steve, the psychic floundered at the suggestion of anything intimate, blushing and looking good enough to eat. Though, Bucky had to admit his thoughts were probably not helping Steve keep collected.

“Definitely not what I meant,” Steve sputtered, eyes wide. “Only that the shop will be closed by now. Tomorrow it opens at nine and it’s about an hour’s drive from my apartment in morning traffic. You know how traffic ge -”

Steve’s babbling stopped abruptly and he blushed even harder, dropping his gaze to the table as everyone present either tried to hide a smile, or didn’t bother. It was polite, a little endearing; except, Bucky realized, if you could hear the thoughts everyone was having about you. The thoughts no one said allowed because they would be mocking, or humiliating. 

As Steve’s face burned brighter, the others seemed to come to the same conclusion. Bruce shuffled uncomfortably, tugging at his collar. Pepper seemed on the verge of apologizing, and Clint was now staring very intently up at the ceiling. 

“That’s gotta suck,” Tony said, his energy for once subdued.

“Yep,” Steve agreed, getting to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me now, we have a course of action and now is the best time for a graceful retreat.”

“Steve,” Pepper began, but the psychic just waved his hand before shoving both into his pockets.

“You have nothing to apologize for. We were never meant to know each others’ thoughts. You and I are only just friends; even those who love us unconditionally have thoughts, fleeting and otherwise, that are unfavorable. It can’t be helped and shouldn’t be held against you.”

“That’s very…charitable of you,” Clint said.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Steve’s lips.

“The ceiling detail was fascinating, but I don’t want you to have to police your own thoughts.” Steve’s gaze went to Bucky for a moment, but that brief glance felt like the lash of a whip. “I want your pity even less.”

The comment left Bucky with his feet glued to the floor, his heart swimming with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he felt like a complete asshole for pitying Steve, because he had. On the other, he was pissed because apparently _he_ did have to police his thoughts. Then there was the rest of Bucky, filled with longing, confused hope, and grief, because that irritation at being looked down on for his misfortune was just like his Steve’s. 

“What’re you waiting for?” Tony asked, his tone still subdued. “Go after him.”

“Good luck,” Pepper added as Bucky opened his mouth to protest. Instead, he smiled ruefully and took off toward the door before Clint could get a word in as well. Was he intimidated? Yes. Was he scared? Yes. Was he confused as fuck? Hell, yes. But he was Captain America, and he never backed down from a challenge. Not even the seeming appearance of his dead lover, resurrected and angry with him.

“Steve!” Bucky called as he jogged down the hall. Though it had only been a moment, the psychic had made it all the way to the elevator. Turning around, he just tilted his head to the side and made no move at all to hold the doors. “JARVIS!” Bucky hollered instead. “Hold that elevator!”

At his request, they slowly opened again.

“Yes?” Steve asked as Bucky skidded to a stop before him. The elevator doors began to close again. The car, however, didn’t move, as apparently Steve hadn’t pressed any buttons. Bastard had been fucking with him.

Steve smirked.

“You deserved it.”

Bucky squirmed for a moment, not sure what to say or think, now that he was here. Now that he was standing before Steve and he already knew everything he was thinking, everything he’d thought throughout the entire meeting. They were close for the first time, both of them standing here, and this Steve was taller than him. Not by much, but his Steve had been so small, had barely come up to his shoulder. His lips were fuller, jaw stronger, more well-defined, as were his cheek bones. Those were his eyes, though. Brilliant blue, and like none other Bucky had ever seen. His nose, his eyebrows, the sweep of his long, golden lashes. 

The bob of his throat as Steve swallowed.

A flash of pink tongue as it wet chapped lips.

“I can’t figure out,” Steve said, his voice rough and deep, “if you want to talk, or kiss him.”

“Him?” Bucky repeated, pulling his gaze from those pretty lips.

“It’s not me you want to kiss, James.”

Bucky winced.

“Don’t,” he said quickly, “Call me Bucky. Only my Ma… Guess you know.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to say it, Bucky,” Steve said quietly.

Swallowing hard, Bucky stepped closer to Steve, and the psychic didn’t back away. Hearing his name from those lips, in that voice, having those eyes on him again... It at once made him feel alive, and reminded him of everything he’d lost. Watching Steve walk away now would be the hardest thing he’d ever done.

“So invite me to your room,” Steve said, then looked surprised he’d said it. 

“Come to my room?” Bucky asked, before Steve could change his mind. “I just…” He almost didn’t say it, didn’t admit aloud what he felt, but Steve had said he wanted to hear it. “I miss him.”

This time Steve stepped closer, blue eyes searching his for… Bucky hadn’t a clue. Everything he thought was an open book. What else was there to know?

“Even after all this time? All the History Channel documentaries say you and Agent Peggy Carter were quite intimate.”

If Bucky hadn’t been so close, hadn’t known Steve’s expression better than his own, he wouldn’t have seen the curl of his lip and known it to be disgust. Steve, for reasons Bucky couldn’t understand if he wasn’t Bucky’s Steve, couldn’t stand the thought of Peggy Carter. That didn’t stop the wave of guilt that washed over Bucky at the mention of Peggy and him. She had deserved better than Bucky, better than being used to numb his pain. He’d known it then, but had needed her too much, her warmth, wit and affection. Some days, it had been all that kept him going.

“Yeah,” Bucky said weakly, looking away toward the elevator panel and pressing the button for his floor.

Steve shifted uncomfortably and then said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that; it was cruel.” 

The doors opened again.

Shrugging a shoulder, Bucky exited first and walked to his door. Palming the security lock, he pushed open the door and held it for Steve. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to say, but was, for the first time, glad this wasn’t his Steve. Explaining Peggy to his Steve, how dark his world had grown when he’d gotten that letter that said his Steve hadn’t survived… Bucky wasn’t sure how he would even begin. If Steve had survived, it never would have happened, but he hadn’t, and yet it still had felt like cheating.

Stepping past him, Steve looked around Bucky’s home. The place was the nicest Bucky had ever lived in, but Pepper had insisted he feel at home, and had made him choose his own furniture and decorate the place himself. Now, he did feel like the apartment was home, unlike any place he’d been since he’d lived with Steve. The furnishings weren’t too fancy; he’d gotten most of it at IKEA, which had quickly become his favorite place to shop; they had everything, _and_ Swedish meatballs. There was no topping that.

Steve ran his hand down the back of Bucky’s black couch, taking in the expansive entertainment center Bucky had designed himself: the large T.V. and speaker system, as well as the art on the walls he’d bought from local galleries. Instead of lingering, Steve went up the three stairs to the combined kitchen dining room, now running his fingers along the edge of the island bar as he looked at the rarely used stainless steel appliances, the small dining room table, and the view through the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the sun setting over Manhattan. 

“You’ve moved up in life,” Steve said, walking to the window like Bucky had expected. It was what would have fascinated his Steve the most.

“And you would know that, how?” Bucky pressed, because he could only take so many coincidences.

Turning so he faced Bucky side-on, Steve raised an eyebrow.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve said in an over-the-top, dramatic announcer's voice, “more commonly known as Captain America, grew up in Brooklyn during the Great Depression. James, who preferred the nickname Bucky, was raised in a tenement flop, with with five younger siblings.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky huffed, irritated as he climbed to stand beside Steve once more. “You researched me?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably again and looked back at the skyline.

“You’re kind of taught in history class, Bucky.”

“No,” Bucky insisted, knowing the evasion for what it was, “you _researched_ me.”

The tips of Steve’s ears turned pink. Before Bucky could ask why, if Steve was another Coulson, or if it meant anything more, Steve turned - and kissed him. It was hard and fast, just like the first time his Steve had kissed him, full of nerves, not knowing if Bucky was about to pop him one. Though it took him by surprise, Bucky didn’t hesitate to respond. Taking Steve’s face between his hands, he took control of the kiss, gentled it, licking at Steve’s lips and sucking on his tongue. The moan that left Steve was music to Bucky’s ears, sweet and sexy, and exactly like he remembered.

“Stevie,” Bucky gasped.

It was like being splashed with cold water. _Stevie_ was _dead_. Yet, besides the height difference, kissing this Steve had been exactly the same. From the way it began to the way he’d wrapped trembling hands around Bucky’s wrists, it was just as Bucky remembered. So achingly familiar; it was everything he wanted, and nothing at all. He’d lost this, it was _gone_ , and nothing could bring it back. No matter how similar, how familiar, dead was dead.

Jerking away, he stared into his Steve’s eyes to find _this_ Steve looked just as shocked as he felt. A moment later, Steve’s face was shuttering, shutting down, and he was turning away. _Walking_ away. Bucky felt the moment slip through his fingers, felt both his Steve and this Steve fall literally from his grasp. Bucky’s back hit the window as he gasped for air as he slid down it. The world swam behind a sheen of tears. It hit Bucky as hard as it had the first time. 

Steve was gone. Dead, because Bucky had thought he had to be a man, provide for him with the meager Army funds which was so much more than what he made on the docks. Because Bucky hadn’t wanted Steve to look down on him; Steve who tried so hard to enlist, and there was Bucky waiting for a draft card? No. He’d signed up, and Steve had developed pneumonia, and there had been no one to look after him.

It was his fault.

Strong arms wrapped about Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him into a warm, enveloping embrace. Distantly, Bucky was aware of it, of how he was sobbing into the fine fabric of a broad shoulder as his face was tucked against a firm chest. It was all wrong, all _wrong_ , and it felt so good. To be held, to hear Steve’s voice whisper to him, and yet it wasn’t _his_ Steve.

Stevie was dead.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Steve’s voice whispered, fingers combing through his hair, “I’m so sorry. It’s gonna be okay.”

Slowly Bucky returned to himself, finding himself clinging to psychic-Steve Roger’s jacket lapels. The fabric beneath his face was wet, would need dry cleaning, but Bucky couldn’t bare to pull away. Steve was still whispering, holding him tight, as if he somehow knew Bucky hadn’t let himself grieve like this, had been running from his loss, all these years. Maybe he did; he _was_ psychic after all.

Steve snorted a laugh and Bucky’s heart squeezed.

“Feel better?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky shook his head, then paused and shrugged.

“I should...” he muttered, meaning to get up.

The arms around Bucky tightened.

“Stay as long as you want.” Steve took a long, slow breath. “I’m sorry for that. It was really inappropriate.”

Chuckling, Bucky had to agree, but it didn’t change that he wanted to know why it had happened at all.

“Because,” Steve answered the unspoken question, “you’ve been thinking such unbelievable filthy thoughts at me all day, and I thought there was one real way to know, to see if it would feel the same. This really wasn’t one of the reactions I’d expected.”

“What?” Bucky asked, trying for humor. “The people you kiss don’t always have emotional breakdowns right afterwards?

“Not generally,” Steve said wryly. “Not that I’ve kissed many people.”

“You? Really?” Bucky asked, genuinely surprised. Past hang-ups and associations aside, Steve was one hell of a dish. Tall, blond, muscular with with a gorgeous smile. 

Laughing again, Steve pressed Bucky to him, and Bucky felt warmth curl through him from his toes upwards. 

“I can read minds, remember?” Steve said. “There’s not many people that _I_ want to kiss.”

Bucky couldn’t help but preen.

“I made the list?”

“Of a whole whopping two people, yeah,” Steve admitted.

“Only?” Bucky winced, and carefully wiped his face on his sleeve. “God, and I start sobbing on you, and called you someone else’s name...”

Steve’s hand tucked Bucky’s hair back behind his ears.

“I should have realized how hung up you were. I only thought… It had been so long…”

“Tasha says I’m emotionally repressed,” Bucky said, smiling because Steve was being far nicer than he had any right to expect. 

“If you’re fucking women instead of dealing with your grief she’s right.”

Bucky laughed, but shook his head.

“Then that would be the reason I _can_ kiss you, not the reason I can’t.”

Steve sighed, tugged lightly at the hair at the base of Bucky’s neck, and stood. He pulled Bucky up with a surprisingly graceful movement for one that had to take considerable strength. Yet Steve did it effortlessly, like his Steve never would have been able to. The tugging at his hair, however, had been pure pre-War Steve Rogers, and it left Bucky shivering and aching with longing.

“I should go,” Steve said quietly. “We both need a good meal and a good night’s rest. Got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“We could grab something to eat,” Bucky suggested, pushing down the panic that had suddenly surged in his chest. “Or order in? I have a guest room…”

Steve shook his head and gently detangled Bucky’s hands from his jacket so he could step away.

“That’s not a good idea, and you know it. I can’t be your dead lover. I’m twenty-eight, he died when he was twenty-two. He was born in 1918, I was born in 1988. I’m…” Steve took a breath and shook his head. “I’m a psychic, I was in the military, and I just can’t be him. We have work to do, people to help, and then we go back to our _separate_ lives. You need to move on.”

As if he was memorizing the place, Steve took one last look around, and then smiled at Bucky who was frozen with panic, trying to think of anything he could say that would get Steve to stay. The panic itself proved how right Steve was to leave, but Bucky was too far gone to think of that. He’d think of it later, as he forced himself to eat; that Steve deserved better than to be a replacement, a substitute, and another Band Aid.

“Please don’t go,” Bucky pleaded, hating himself for begging, but certain if Steve walked out the door, he’d lose him again.

Steve just shook his head and walked away, leaving Bucky standing in his empty apartment. Alone. And, for the first time since the Battle of New York, Bucky felt it. He wallowed in it, in being a man out of time, out of place, who would still have lost the love of his life even if he hadn’t “died”. Just like he’d lost his family, all dead before they’d woken Bucky up. He couldn’t imagine if this Steve was really, somehow, _his_ Steve, having thought him dead until just a few years ago. Losing Steve had been bad enough, but he’d at least known him, had had him, held him. If his Steve had been reincarnated with Bucky in the ice, it would have been twenty-six years thinking him dead. Having Steve for nearly twenty years hadn’t been enough…

_I’m twenty-eight, he died when he was twenty-two. He was born in 1918, I was born in 1988._

Groping for a chair, Bucky pulled it out and got it beneath him just as his legs threatened to give way. He racked his brain for any moment he had thought, or said, anything about when Steve was born. About how old he’d been when he died. He hadn’t; Bucky was fairly certain he hadn’t. There was no documentation on Steve. No one had known about him, not even the Commandos. Only Peggy, and she’d never told. So how had Steve known?

Bucky scrubbed a hand down his face.

“You’re reaching, Barnes,” he said to himself, “Might just not remember thinking it.”

Yet as he tried to relax, as he forced himself to eat, then sleep, Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about the things Steve shouldn’t have known.


	4. The Conversation Continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to Xantissa for this chapter as I was very stuck and, as she says, apparently just needed Bucky to be a horn dog.

Bucky was halfway through getting dressed in jeans - another incredible invention - and Tony’s gifted Iron Man shirt, when he realized Steve hadn’t given him an address to pick him up at. He didn’t have a number, any way at all to get in contact with the psychic. They’d been so absorbed in their personal drama - Bucky getting Steve to stay, Steve trying to leave - neither had noticed the oversight. And - Bucky glanced at the analogue clock hanging over the stove - he had only a half hour before they were supposed to meet.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered.

As if in response, JARVIS’ voice sounded from the overhead speakers.

“Captain, is it a bad time? There is someone here to see you. A Steve Rogers; says you might be expecting him?”

“He’s here?” Bucky asked incredulously.

“Yes, Captain,” JARVIS confirmed. “Shall I…?”

“Yes,” Bucky said quickly, interrupting the question before JARVIS could finish asking it. “Let him up.”

“Just a moment, Captain.”

Since he’d managed to tie only one red sneaker, Bucky hurriedly shoved his foot into the matching shoe and ran into the living room. He was practically vibrating out of his skin, though he couldn’t have said why. Maybe it was the disastrous kiss which, when he’d thought about it, hadn’t had a very clear explanation. Maybe it was Steve coming to him when he’d been the one to walk away. Maybe it was a chance to get some answers to his questions, but Bucky wasn’t expecting much. Steve was holding his secrets close to his chest and, if he was anything like Bucky’s Steve, he wouldn’t be bullied into offering them up. Either Bucky would have to figure them out on his own, or convince Steve he could be trusted with them. After their argument the previous night, he had a lot of work cut out for him either way.

Then there was the metaphorical dragon in their future.

The elevator doors opened and Steve stepped back into Bucky’s apartment. Unlike yesterday, when he’d been dressed to the nines in an expensive suit, today he was far more laid back in a plain white t-shirt and black cargo pants, held up with a black leather belt. It was so incongruous to the image Bucky had of Steve - black steel-toed work boots and all - he almost felt like he was looking at a different man. A military man who'd grown up in this modern world like Bucky had seen countless times since he'd woken on bases around the world. The Starbucks cup in one hand and a plastic bag in the other, only set the idea more firmly. This Steve was not his Steve.

Then he smiled and butterflies sprung to life in Bucky's stomach.

“Morning,” Steve greeted. “Brought you coffee - black - and a bagel - plain. Also brought you a shirt.” The plastic bag and the coffee were pressed into Bucky’s hands. “You have to change; cute shirt, though.”

Bucky could only keep staring as Steve kept on, heading past him and dropping gracefully onto the couch. Leaning back, he crossed his legs, and pulled a moleskine and pencil from a pocket of his pants. After making a note, he seemed to notice Bucky was still standing there, unmoving, holding the offerings, and staring at Steve as he held in his hands the exact breakfast he’d eaten every morning from 1936 to 1941. 

Slowly lowering the book, Steve cleared his throat and said roughly, “You could at least say good morning.”

“Explain,” was all Bucky could croak out, shaking the cup and bag in Steve’s direction. 

Either he was reading Bucky’s mind, or he finally realized Bucky wasn’t just upset, or fixated, because Steve sat up and explained. For once.

“I had a dream last night,” Steve said. “In it you piss off someone important with that shirt, after we stopped to get breakfast and you bought that. I just… I thought it would be easier if I -”

“Bought me a shirt?” Bucky interjected, voice dripping with scepticism. “And breakfast?”

Steve’s ears turned red, but his chin lifted in challenge.

“I thought the shirt would look good on you, and I’d rather you pick your fight with me in private than in the middle of a damned bagel shop.”

“You thought the shirt…” Bucky squinted, trying to figure out what the hell was going on in Steve’s head. “What fight? Why am I picking a fight?”

Steve squared his shoulders and sat up even straighter.

“If I knew that, I would have started with that. My dreams are either audio or visual, rarely both. I couldn’t hear what you were saying.”

Feeling wrong-footed and off balance, Bucky stepped around the couch and sat on the far side from Steve. If there was going to be a fight, he thought he knew what was on his own mind. The secrets Steve was hiding, the knowledge of _his_ Steve the psychic shouldn’t have, hadn’t stopped lurking in the back of his mind. This Steve knew something. Knew something about Bucky’s Stevie and it nagged at him, made him think in circles, made him think of increasingly less realistic scenarios. He was like a dog chasing its own tail. Only, Bucky was getting more irritated with how useless it all was. 

There was something about Steve, about the way he held himself, that spoke of secrets. A kind of wall he withdrew behind every time Bucky brought up his Stevie. The fact Steve Rogers, this one, the twenty first century one, was hitting all Bucky’s buttons wasn’t helping matters either. He couldn’t stop thinking about that fascinating body; imagining touching it, trying to guess the sounds this Steve would make. Would he like to fuck, or be fucked? There were a million questions on his mind, and they bubbled up without conscious choice.

“Oh,” Steve said from where he sat. “Well.”

Bucky’s lips twisted in a grimace and he sighed, sliding lower in his seat - preparing for battle. It seemed that he wouldn’t even need to bring up the issue aloud, which he had to admit was kind of useful. Faster to get to the point and fewer misunderstandings and interruptions.

Snorting, Steve sat up and crossed his arms. Battle indeed.

“My secrets, as you call them, are mine. You don’t get to know them just because you’re…Captain America.” 

Half-turning in place, Bucky met Steve’s gaze.

“Are they your secrets when they pertain to me? You know things about me nobody alive knows. Nobody.” Bucky tried to remain calm, tried to state the words as fact, but the echo from the day before was making his voice go tight at the end.

“Anything I know, you thought,” Steve said defensively, broad arms tightening so the muscles of his biceps and chest stood out even more beneath the simple shirt.

Bucky smiled, exposing his teeth, and didn’t care that it was not a nice smile.

“Bull. Shit.” Bucky said, forcefully slowing his words to keep himself from yelling. “I don’t think about…” he swallowed, the words lodging like a ball of barbed wire in his throat. “About Steve dying in terms specific enough for you to know the dates with this level of specificity.” He huffed. “Mostly I prefer to think that time didn’t ever happen,” Steve flinched and Bucky pounced, sitting forward, “and you gave exact goddamn dates, Steve. How did you know? Because it _didn’t_ get it from me.”

Steve got up, powerful body unfolding in a single, almost violent movement. He tangled both his hands in his hair before he started pacing, making a frustrated sound. And conveniently turning away from Bucky. It was something his Steve had done, turned away from him when unsettled, or hiding something. Making it all the harder for Bucky to see his face.

“I don’t,” Steve stammered, turning back to him and stopping. He tugged at his hair and glanced at the door before shaking his head and looking away again. It was all that kept Bucky in his seat. “I don’t always know where my knowledge comes from.” With one arm still pressed to his chest, the other swept outward, fingers spread as if he was trying to hold something. “I-it’s not as simple as listening. I know things, I see things, I… I don’t mean to hurt you with this, but I’m not about to let you keep attacking me for what _you_ see.”

“Oh,” Bucky said with sudden, ironic mirth, “I learned I can’t trust my own eyes, especially with you, Steve. I _know_ it.” He put so much emphasis on the words it was almost painful, “But I’m more than just a collection of super-strong muscles. I can gather facts, can remember the words you choose. You said Steve was twenty-two when he died, and you couldn't have known that because for all that history is concerned, Steve never even existed!”

Steve whirled, thrusting a pointing finger practically in Bucky’s face.

“But _you_ know!” he argued. “You, who can’t stop thinking about him every time you look at me. All your thoughts are a comparison, a - a - a fucking _ballad_ of love and longing for a man you see who isn’t standing here. Are you even capable of hearing your _own_ thoughts when they spin his way? You dart from the first time you kissed, to the last, to your fights, and I can’t…” Steve stilled, dropped his hand and squared his shoulders. “I can’t not hear it, Bucky. Maybe you thought ‘We only got twenty-two years’. Maybe you thought ‘He should have lived longer than that’. I don’t know! I don’t!”

Steve’s voice was rising, shouting, and near hysterical. It made Bucky think of asthma attacks and back alley arguments. Bucky hated to see it, to see Steve in so much distress, in so much pain, but there was something so wrong in what Steve said. He kept referring to years, but Bucky had honestly never thought he spent twenty-two years with Steve. His life was separated into _before Steve_ and _after Steve_ , and he couldn’t quite believe all of that knowledge had come from him alone. Yet, this Steve looked to be in so much pain, looked so genuinely distressed, it left a bad taste in his mouth to think he was forcing his grief, his love, on a man who didn’t want any part of it. He wanted to let go of the issue, he really truly wanted to let go, but…

“Look,” Steve said, tiredly. He closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair before dropping back onto the couch. “You’re strong, right? You’re stronger than any human could be biologically. If the serum was merely making you the pinnacle of health, statistically there should be people close to your strength level, but there aren’t. So, if I asked you what exactly makes you so strong, would you know? How the serum makes you what you are? Can you explain it to me?”

Bucky exhaled, feeling as if somebody had punched the air out of him. Put that way, Steve was right. He could give his standard answer - the serum did it - but he couldn’t explain _how_. He didn’t know. No one but Erskine knew, and Erskine hadn’t shared his knowledge. He just…was the way he was. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, looking down at his hands. “You’re right. I’m expecting you to explain things that can’t be explained, and it’s unfair of me. I’m sorry,” he repeated, feeling suddenly like the worst kind of asshole. Steve was still uncomfortably like his Stevie, knew way too much for Bucky to ever separate the two in his mind, but he knew he couldn’t just up and accuse Steve like he had. Not without more proof than just words.

“Ugh,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, “you’re forgiven even when you’re just planning to find a new way to fight this.” He kicked Bucky lightly with the toe of his boot, “Because you mean it. So,” he gestured toward the bedroom, “go change, then you can eat while we head to Agatha’s.”

Bucky smiled, charmed because it wasn’t a gesture he recognized. That probably made him more of an asshole, but it was true.

“I’m kinda known for not giving up on a fight,” Bucky drawled, trying to lift the mood.

“They call it stubborn.” Steve kicked at him again and that _was_ his Stevie. “Go. Shoo.”

Bucky laughed, grabbing the shirt from the bag. With one hand he shook it out, and with the other reached behind his head to yank off his Iron Man shirt.

“What? Never seen a man without a shirt before?”

Steve stared, a high flush sneaking onto his cheeks.

“Uh,” he stuttered.

Bucky smirked, rolling his shoulders back, shamelessly making his pecs flex and his biceps stand out against his skin. He had spent so much time in front of camera lately, he knew all the tricks to making himself look even better than usual. And well, he was a handsome beast on an average day.

“N-not the point,” Steve stammered and his gaze was definitely not focused anywhere near Bucky’s face, so he flexed again and saw Steve swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing. Even though it wasn’t _his_ Steve, Bucky enjoyed Steve’s eyes on him, the way they were falling out of his skull. When he realized Steve’s mouth had fallen open, it snapped shut and the psychic blushed harder, the red creeping down his neck, and up his ears. “You are so very conceited.”

“Yeah, but I have every right to be,” Bucky said with another laugh. 

Taking pity on Steve - because it was that, or come on to him again, and that had gone so well last time - he pulled the shirt over his head. Then he froze, staring at the image on the front. A man stood at an old microphone, reading from a script. A radio was superimposed over him and the background had vague, shadowy creatures, or machines, walking on a red background. Beneath it all, were the words “War of the Worlds”. The radio program that had terrified the nation, though it had actually been a relatively quiet night for them. Bucky had been looking forward to the broadcast for days, and he’d talked Steve into listening to it together. Steve had complained the whole while they weren’t listening to _The Chase_ and _Sanborn Hour_ , but he’d enjoyed it. Had drawn aliens and space ships for weeks afterwards.

“Why?” Bucky asked, mouth suddenly dry so he had to clear his throat. “Why this shirt?”

“I told you,” Steve muttered, and Bucky looked up to see him rubbing his temples, “I thought it would look good on you. Teach me to buy you anything.”

“Right,” Bucky said slowly, narrowing his eyes at Steve.

The psychic surged to his feet again and headed towards the door. Bucky couldn't help but notice the almost obscene way his cargo pants hugged his unbelievably perky ass. That ass that would look really nice in his hands. He was sure each cheek would fit perfectly into his palm. Briefly he wondered if Steve would like it, Bucky’s hands on his ass.

“For fuck’s sake, Barnes,” Steve blurted, folding his arms and turning to glare at Bucky. “Eyes off my ass.”

Bucky take his eyes off Steve’s ass, now that it wasn’t in such clear view, and he did try to look Steve in the eyes. He did, but on the way up his gaze got snagged on the indecently bulging pecs, pushed up by Steve’s folded his arms. They filled out the shirt so well, Bucky had to swallow the urge to just go there and see if they were as firm as they looked from where he stood. With his face preferably.

Whirling away, blushing darker than ever, Steve stomped to the elevator.

“God, you need to get laid,” Steve grumbled. “Come _on_.”

“Well,” Bucky drawled, in for a penny, in for a pound, “I would if you’d let me.”

Steve slammed his fist into the call button, and raised his eyes to the ceiling, mutely asking for help.

“If that’s a pick up line, it’s so lame, if it was a horse, I’d shoot it.”

Bucky moved then, as fast as his enhanced body would let him, and was beside Steve in a second, both his arms slapping onto the wall beside Steve’s broad shoulders. The psychic started, turning so he was facing Bucky as he was caged in, staring at him with wide, nervous eyes.

“You say I push my grief and my love for Stevie on you, and I am sorry for that. But Steve,” Bucky let his voice drop, become low and gravely as he continued, “don’t try to pretend I don’t feel shit for you. I look at your body and I see you, Steve. Not my dead lover. I see you. It’s your body that makes me hot, that makes me think of sex whenever you’re near, that makes me goddamn stupid with how much I want you. So yeah, I might still be grieving for Stevie, I might always be grieving for him, but that doesn't change the fact that you turned my head the moment you walked in, and that was _before_ you opened your mouth to spew a litany of things nobody should know.” Steve’s throat bobbed, eyes darting to Bucky’s lips and back up. “I want _you_.“ He leaned even closer, staring into Steve’s wide eyes. “I see you and I want you, so don’t try to push me away thinking I only like you because you remind me of Stevie.”

Once again Steve’s throat bobbed, then he was grabbing Bucky’s shoulders, heaving and twisting him to the side. Bucky went, despite not knowing what Steve was doing, or what he was up to. His back crashed against the wall, Steve’s hands holding him in place. Bucky had just enough time to see blue eyes dilated to black before they closed and Steve was kissing him again.

There were no nerves behind this kiss, and the confidence made it all the better. Steve’s leg pressed between Bucky’s, thigh against his hardening cock, and Bucky finally let himself touch. His hands alighted on a waist so tiny it seemed impossible, and he pulled Steve closer, their bodies touching from knees to shoulders. Steve’s tongue swept into his mouth on a gasp, twining about his own. Bucky sucked, earning a moan, and then Steve was pulling away, breathing hard, and looking far less put together than Bucky had ever seen him.

“We, um,” Steve’s gaze swept him from head to toe, and Bucky imagined he was as much a sight to see as Steve himself, slumped bonelessly against the wall and kissed-stupid as he was, “We got places to be. World to save. Yada, yada.”

“And if we didn’t?” Bucky challenged.

Steve stepped back in, caught Bucky by the shirt and yanked him forward. This kiss was shorter than the last, but harder and full of promises. When Steve let go, someone whined and it took Bucky a moment to realize it was him.

“Imagine,” Steve purred, his voice so low and sinful it made Bucky’s cock stand at full attention, “what a mind reader can do to you in bed.”

Another whine, definitely his own this time, and Bucky said, “Can’t the world saving wait a few hours?”

The smile Steve graced him with was as full of wickedness as his voice.

“No, not really.”

Bucky hit his head on the wall, though not hard enough to crack the plaster.

“Okay, okay.” He took a deep breath and made himself stand up straight. “Then let’s get it over with.”

Steve laughed, the shit.

“Next best thing?”

“Yep,” Bucky agreed, adjusting himself as the elevator opened, “Next best thing.”


	5. Agatha's Answers Cause More Questions

When they walked out of the Tower and stopped by a black motorcycle parked on the sidewalk, Bucky swallowed hard. It had been all he could do not to touch Steve in the elevator, then walking through the lobby, but a motorcycle? They would be pressed from groin to shoulder, intimately, for the entire ride. 

Bucky wasn’t sure his libido could take it.

“I just told you I’d take you to bed,” Steve said, holding out a helmet, “and you’re concerned about grinding on my ass?”

“Well,” Bucky took the head protection, “when you put it that way…”

Steve snorted, throwing a leg over the bike and straddling the Harley. He looked back at Bucky, challenge in his eyes as he pushed his own helmet onto his head. The visor remained up, so Bucky couldn’t miss those baby blues quite clearly egging him on. The look was familiar, but the flirtation wasn’t, and Bucky realized why he was hesitant. Stevie would never have been so bold, so sure of himself, or this welcome.

“ _Stevie_ couldn’t hear you panting over him in his head,” Steve declared, rolling his eyes. “New world, Barnes, new rules. I’ve had sex, I like sex, and I have no trouble talking about it. Now get on the damn bike, or call a cab. Either way, this party’s leaving.”

The heavy deep rumble of the Harley’s engine filled the street and Bucky wasted no more time clambering on behind Steve. Thumping the helmet into place, he snapped down the visor in time with Steve, and wrapped his arms around his waist. All thoughts of how fucking hot Steve’s confidence was vanished at the feel of all that muscle against his chest and under his hands. Shuddering, he pressed his half-hard cock against Steve’s ass and felt a shiver run through the body against his. 

A moment later, the engine revved again and they tore into the street. Bucky held on tighter, hating the helmet because it meant that much of him couldn’t be pressed to Steve as well. The slim waist fit perfectly in his arms, the strong muscles of Steve’s back shifting against Bucky’s chest as he maneuvered the powerful machine through city traffic. The vibration of the engine traveled through the seat, making his cock pressed against Steve’s ass all the more sensitive. It wasn’t helping that he hadn’t gotten laid since he’d been defrosted, not after being warned about sex tapes and the lack of privacy the new millennium suffered from. Yet with Steve, he didn’t care. 

With how aroused Bucky was by the bike, by Steve’s confidence, by the feel of his body, the trip went by in a rush. Far sooner than he liked, they were pulling up before a row of store fronts. The one they were looking for was obvious, The Magical Cat spelled out in foot high letters, a black cat winding it’s way between the ‘L’ and ‘C’. 

Yet Bucky’s focus wasn’t on the task at hand. Neither he, nor Steve, moved to get off the bike. Bucky hadn’t budged, his chest pressed to all that glorious muscle, hands clasped against firm abs. It was difficult not to grope, really, to slide his hands higher and get two fistfuls of Steve’s pecs, see if they’d be as firm as he thought, or maybe just a little soft. Steve turning off the bike and reaching back to slide his hands over Bucky’s knees didn’t help. They were broad, heat sinking right through Bucky’s pants and into his skin, and Bucky felt dizzy with how good the simple contact felt.

“We should do dinner,” Steve said, his voice a rumble that matched that of the Harley between their legs.

“Just dinner?” Bucky asked, hands sliding slowly along Steve’s stomach. 

At last Steve moved, pulling out of Bucky’s hands and swinging his leg over the bike. Pulling off the helmet - revealing tousled blond hair and pupil-blown eyes - he tucked it under his arm. The light hit him just right and Bucky’s mouth went dry. Steve was beautiful, so goddamned beautiful. A healthy angel, though one full of secrets and swathed in mysteries.

“I’m not _that_ easy, Bucky,” Steve teased. “You’ll have to take me to dinner first. Now, take a minute, get yourself together, and I’ll meet you inside. You look like you’d be happy to have me ravish you on the street.”

Pulling off his helmet, Bucky smiled shamelessly and said flirtatiously, “Kinda would.” 

Chuckling again, Steve shook his head.

“You’re terrible.”

“ _You_ like it.”

Turning away, Steve said, “Fair enough,” and Bucky was left with his mouth hanging open, staring at his back. He wasn’t sure why it was still surprising him so much, Steve’s flirting. The kiss, the promise of taking Bucky to bed, a dinner date, it all added up to one thing: Steve was as interested in him as he was in Steve. Yet each display took Bucky by surprise, like part of him expected to be rejected, or that it was all too good to be true.

A small bell tied to the door handle jingled, and Bucky scrambled off the bike. It took him a minute to figure out where the damn helmet was supposed to go, but then he was able to hurry to the shop, trying to catch up to Steve. When he opened the door, the bell chimed again and Bucky paused despite himself. The shop was just… nothing special. Long, but thin, it held a dizzying array of shelves full of books, a few tables covered with displays of herbs and crystals, and a glass counter full of jewelry, behind which sat a bored looking teenager with dreadlocks and rack upon rack of jars of oil.

This wasn’t what he’d pictured when Steve had said a real live magic user operated within the store. Dark shadows and velvet seemed more appropriate than this. Bucky took another look at the bored teenager and the brilliantly colored beads threaded through her dreadlocks, and pegged her as a college student. If she was who they were here to see, Bucky was going to give Steve an earful.

At the same moment he had the thought, Bucky realized he couldn’t see Steve in the shop anywhere. It wasn’t like there was anywhere _to_ hide, either. Not that he could see.

Turning, to the young cashier, Bucky said, “Um,” and the girl pointed towards the back before he’d gotten another syllable out. He glanced at the back, saw nothing different, but headed in the indicated direction anyways. There was something about the girl… No, there was something about knowing people could read minds that made Bucky less inclined to question them. 

Still, the closer he got to the wall, the more confused he felt. There were book cases, contents mystical and obscure, and a few tables, but no doors or passageways. It was only when he passed a table piled high with overly-scented candles in a rainbow of colors did he see it. Or it appeared. Bucky wasn’t sure how, but it was there now, an open doorway screened by heavy red velvet like he’d imagined before entering the shop.

Yeah, so Bucky wasn’t sure he was keen on this whole magic thing. It didn’t work in any logical way he could see, and that made it far too difficult to account for. Really, how was he supposed to know there was a disappearing door in the back of the shop? Who would guess that? No one, that’s who.

Pushing past the curtains, Bucky found the hallway led to a small alcove with three doors on each side. Physically, one had to lead back into the shop - the shop without any doors except the front entrance - so Bucky stopped thinking and focused on the voices he could hear.

“...that’s not why I’ve come,” Steve was saying, voice tight and defensive.

“It isn’t?” a croaky, female voice asked. “Surprising. You’re not fighting fate? You have for a long time now.”

“I…I’m not here about that. I mean, _he’s_ here, but -”

Bucky couldn't help but focus on the ‘he’ mentioned. Was it referring to him? Or to the threat they were chasing? Steve told him so little, and his visions, while disturbing, were not helping. Bucky didn’t like the defensive note in Steve’s voice, either. It raised all kinds of protective instincts in him. 

“Steven,” the woman interrupted, and Bucky hoped she’d stopped smoking with how her voice sounded, “have you really not come to terms with your past? It is not going away. You must face it; embrace it. Just look what happened with you and that Summers boy.”

What Summer’s boy? Bucky’s hackles were immediately up. He might not understand half of what they were talking about, but _this_ he got. She was referring to Steve’s lover. Ex-lover? He hoped it was an ex. The jealousy burned hot and bright in his chest before he managed to squash it and focus on the continuing conversation.

“I’m not here to talk about Scott, or my love life, Agatha,” Steve snapped. “The dragon -”

“Ugh,” the woman groaned. “Sit. I do not have time for the foolishness of youth. Come in, Captain Barnes. Let us get on with it.”

Startled, Bucky stepped toward the open door and found Steve sitting with an old weather- beaten woman. They were in what appeared to be an old fashioned living room. There was a curio cabinet in a corner filled with china. The antique coffee table between them held a matching teapot, three tea cups on saucers, and a dish of dry cookies. When he entered the room, the light dimmed and his feet sank into the plush rug laid over wooden floors. But strangest of all was the window behind where the woman was sitting. It was perfectly square, nearly four feet by four feet, and outside was a brilliant meadow and rolling hills, stretching to the horizon. It was, put simply, _not_ New York.

A hand gently clasped his wrist, and Bucky looked down to see Steve looking at him sympathetically. He followed the hand’s guidance, sitting heavily in the chair beside Steve, surprised when the blue cushion proved to be as hard as the wood back, like they’d forgotten to put the stuffing in. He didn’t much mind the discomfort, however, when Steve didn’t stop holding his wrist, his hand now resting atop Bucky’s on the arm rest. 

When he could focus on Agatha, the witch was giving Steve a significant look. She was dressed in a Victorian style dress, burgundy, with white embroidery. Deep wrinkles etched her face, speaking of thousands of smiles and years of laughter. Atop her head, her grey hair was neatly coiffed, not a strand out of place. To Steve’s credit, he didn’t move his hand, or blush under her clear green eyes, just reached out with his other hand and poured himself a cup of tea. Bucky had to admit he liked it, this unflappability. His Stevie had been very… flappable. 

Was that even a word?

“Bucky, please stop thinking,” Steve said, voice quiet, but firm.

Bucky flushed.

“Sorry.”

How do you stop thinking? Bucky wondered, then saw Steve crack a smile. God, he was gorgeous. Even drinking tea. Just an all around, gorgeous man.

“The dragon, Steven,” Agatha prompted. “Or perhaps an introduction, if you’ve remembered your manners from drinking my tea.”

Steve still didn’t blush like Stevie would have, just set his tea in its saucer and gently squeezed Bucky’s wrist.

“Bucky, this is Grand Dame Agatha Harkness, leader of the magical community in New York City. Agatha, this is Captain James Buchanan Barnes, leader of the Avengers.”

Though Bucky was surprised by the very formal introduction, he ran with it. His mother - and Stevie’s mother - had raised him to be polite, after all.

“Please, call me Bucky.”

“Only if you call me Agatha,” the Grand Dame replied with a small upturn of her pale lips. 

“It’s an honor, Agatha,” Bucky said and watched all the wrinkles spread as she smiled, lovely as any cherished grandmother.

Movement caught his eye, and Bucky turned to watch Steve pull a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I brought you a copy of the vision, Agatha,” Steve explained as he passed it to the witch (Bucky was _sure_ she was a witch). Her long, manicured fingers unfolded it delicately and she took it in as Steve continued. “You’ll see a girl there, at the end of one of the arms of the Key of Solomon. I was hoping, as the symbol is pagan, you might know her, or have an idea where we can find out who she is.”

Agatha’s green eyes flicked to Steve for a breath, then returned to the drawing.

“Am I really the only member of the community you know, Steven?” she asked.

Steve lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

“There’s Dr. Strange, but -”

“No, no, he wouldn’t have a clue,” she agreed. “Too high-and-mighty for learning the names of our younglings.”

Bucky had the uncomfortable feeling that the more he heard, the less he understood. Steve was throwing out all sorts of titles as if they meant something, but they meant nothing to him. The very existence of a magic community was a surprise, much less who was who within it.

Eagerly, Steve sat forward.

“You do recognize her, then?”

“I do,” Agatha sat back, folding her hand over the drawing and watching Steve critically, “and I see why you would wish to find her. Do you have any idea who represents our dragon?”

Since he’d mostly been left out of the conversation so far, Bucky wasn’t expecting Steve to turn to him now.

“Tell her about Zola.”

“Arnim Zola?” Bucky clarified and looked uncertainly at Agatha when Steve nodded. “He was a doctor in World War Two who worked for Johann Schmit.”

“The Red Skull,” Agatha said, lips curling into a moue of distaste. “The abomination. Ending his life was a gift to humanity, young man.”

“You knew him?” Bucky asked surprised and uncertain. “There aren’t many alive who do.”

The witch smiled at him with amusement even as Steve squeezed his wrist.

“Agatha is…”

“Ancient,” the woman supplied. “No need to mince words, Steven. I assure you, Captain, I am far older than you or Mr. Rogers here.”

The words made something cold lodge behind Bucky’s ribcage and he glanced at Steve searchingly. The blue eyes didn’t turn his way, however, remaining on their tea. As if she’d not said anything unusual at all, Steve said, “The Avengers do not believe he’s alive.”

The witch hummed thoughtfully. 

“They both are and aren’t right.”

Bucky leaned forward.

“What do you mean?”

“Zola is not alive,” she answered, “but it _is_ Zola in Steven’s vision.”

“As I told you,” Steve said, after sipping his tea, “My vision suggests he’s something in-between. What’s certain, is that who ever our dragon is, they’re working with him.”

Bucky looked from Steve to Agatha, then back again. He hated this whole conversation, especially the way the two seemed to read each other’s minds with barely a glance. He knew nothing about Agatha’s abilities, her history, or her reputation. There was nothing that allowed him to see her as an ally, rather than a potential threat. Steve seemed to trust her, to look to her for advice, but it wasn’t as if Steve had told him all that much about himself. Nevertheless, for better or worse, he trusted Steve, but he had no guarantee that other people, other members of this ‘magical community’, were not manipulating Steve. As strong as he appeared, Bucky knew personally that there was always somebody stronger.

“Seriously?” he said dryly. “None of this is helpful.”

Both Agatha and Steve chuckled, then smiled at each other as if they had shared a private joke.

“The Divine rarely is,” Agatha said sympathetically. “One does what one can, with what one is given. However.” The witch reached for her as yet untouched tea cup, lifted it by the saucer and took a sip. Only then did she say, “I do have something helpful for you.”

“Oh?” Bucky prompted as she paused dramatically. Really, these people were so theatrical. 

Steve snorted, then gave Agatha an apologetic look.

“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “Youth, so impatient. Would it kill you to let an old woman enjoy herself?”

Biting his lip, Bucky shook his head.

“Sorry.”

“Hmm,” Agatha hummed. “Well, the young lady was my apprentice for a time. Her name is Wanda Maximoff, and currently she’s expanding her education at the Xavier School for Gifted Students.”

Bucky frowned.

“Never heard of it.”

“I have.” The soft, solemn tone of Steve’s voice turned Bucky’s head. No longer was Steve smiling and amused, and he withdrew his hand from Bucky’s arm. “It’s where I grew up. Professor Charles Xavier was - is - my mentor.”

“Yes, Steven,” Agatha said gently, “you have to go home.”


	6. Trust Issues and Sushi

After Agatha had told them their mystery girl, Wanda, was studying where Steve had grown up, the conversation had ended very quickly. Steve, uncharacteristically distracted, had hurried their goodbyes and then hurried Bucky back through the shop. It appeared he was on a mission to get moving again, get to wherever they were going - this school for gifted children - and not about to stop for anything.

Well, Bucky had something to say about that. Not that Steve seemed to have noticed even though he was a mind reader. Really, it was making Bucky worried about the guy.

“Steve,” Bucky said loudly as the psychic reached his bike. The psychic didn’t even twitch. Frustrated, Bucky closed his eyes and put all his concentration into picturing one thing: a giant, erect penis.

Steve stumbled, then whirled around.

“What the fuck, Barnes?!”

“I wanted your attention,” Bucky huffed. “You’re ignoring me.”

“And you all but slammed a dick into my face?” Steve was flushed from anger, offence, or irritation, Bucky wasn’t sure. He even stomped his right foot. It was cute, but from the look of it, him finding it cute pissed Steve off even more. That was just a bonus. “I swear to god, if this wasn’t about saving the world, I would strangle you right here and now.”

“At least you’re paying attention to me now,” Bucky drawled, walking closer.

“You are seriously -”

“Yes,” Bucky interrupted, catching Steve’s arm. “Who is this Summer’s guy? And what’s he to you?”

Steve opened his mouth, still angry and flushed, and then his eyes focused on Bucky even more. They went sharp, and Bucky realized it was the same look Steve had had when he’d been reading his mind on previous occasions. Not just unable to stop eavesdropping, but actively listening to Bucky’s thoughts.

“Yes,” Bucky said quietly, not letting go of Steve’s arm, his voice intense. “I did this to get your attention. Who is Summers? And more importantly, is he gone?”

“Scott Summers,” Steve said, the heat gone from his tone, though he didn’t look any less angry. “He was the other guy, the only other one I’ve wanted to kiss, and no. He’ll be at the school.”

“Was it serious?” Bucky demanded, pressing because he could sense the give in Steve this time when normally his walls were miles high.

Steve hesitated, then admitted, “We were engaged.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut. Bucky could deal with a lover, or a fling, but somebody Steve had loved enough to marry? The man existed in a castle of his own making and someone had already breached those walls. How was Bucky supposed to compete with that?

“I ended it,” Steve said, drawing Bucky from his thoughts with how desperate he sounded. “Bucky -” Steve licked his lips and reached for Bucky, curling his fingers in the brand new shirt. “Bucky, it’s _over_.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” The word was solid and firm, no hesitation, but Bucky wished he could have the advantage Steve had. He doubted many people could lie to him. “I’m not lying to you,” Steve answered the thought. “I loved him and it hurt, still hurts, that I had to do it, but it was the right thing, and I would _never_ take it back. That’s why I left the school, so he could move on.”

Bucky swallowed hard, staring up that inch into Steve’s eyes. They were pleading with him, begging to be believed, and it struck him how ridiculous this situation would be to an outsider. They’d known each other less than twenty four hours, and here Bucky was, attached like they’d been lovers for years. Like Steve had hidden Scott Summers from him, not just lived a life where he’d been with another man. Yet, the thought of Scott goddamn Summers teaching Steve to be so confident with his sexuality made Bucky’s blood boil. Not just because he was so like Stevie, either, because he had promised himself to Bucky and Bucky wasn’t about to share.

“You don’t,” Steve whispered, slipping closer so there was hardly space between them anymore. And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Steve was acting just as drawn in, as desperate to have his fidelity believed as if they _had_ been lovers. As if Bucky’s attitude wasn’t crazy at all.

“Please, Bucky,” Steve pleaded, inching toward Bucky as if to kiss him...

And Bucky's stomach rumbled the national anthem.

Steve made small, strangled sound and leaned away. Wide eyes still focused on Bucky, Steve’s cheeks distended and he snorted out a laugh. Then he was clutching onto Bucky’s shoulder as he practically bent over, howling like a goddamn hyena.

“It’s not that funny,” Bucky grumbled, working hard not to join in the laughter.

“No,” Steve said between guffaws, “it really is. You can’t lie to me. I can read your mind.”

“Ugh,” Bucky threw up his hands, “mind-readers!”

Stifling his merriment, Steve straightened up and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

“Come on, big guy. Lunch is on me. How’s sushi sound?”

Bucky perked up; he _loved_ sushi.

“Salmon rolls?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Deal.” Reaching past Steve, he grabbed both helmets and plopped Steve’s atop his head. “Let’s get a move on!”

\----

The restaurant Steve took Bucky to was a hole in the wall sandwiched between a laundromat and a tax assessor. Ginza, as it was called, had only a dozen tables, and the atmosphere was intimate. Japanese wood paintings lined the walls, bamboo plants were placed here and there around the black wooden furniture, but what really enhanced the atmosphere was the low lighting. At a corner table, half-hidden by a wooden screen, Bucky could imagine no one else existed except the two of them.

Well, and their waitress. She brought them tea and miso as soon as they sat down, handing over a paper sushi menu for them to share. Bucky’s enhanced metabolism called for quite a lot of sustenance, so he wasn't too surprised when the waitress had checked if he really wanted six salmon rolls as well as the few Steve had selected.

“So, I guess I owe you some answers, huh?” Steve said the second the woman walked out of earshot.

“Um,” Bucky swallowed his mouthful of soup and shrugged. “Was more expecting you to comment on how much I ordered.”

It was a relief when Steve smiled and tapped his forehead because he was looking a bit off.

“You already explained and it's fine, Buck, I don't mind if you do eat a horse. I more meant… You've been so trusting and I've not… really done anything to earn that. So… maybe I can answer some of your questions about Agatha, and Scott, and the school.”

“Not you?” Bucky asked as much because he still suspected Steve was keeping secrets, as because he wanted to be sure he understood the parameters.

“Within reason.” Steve smiled almost shyly at Bucky and his heart skipped. “I _would_ like it if you got to know me.”

Surprised and utterly charmed, Bucky reached across the table and claimed the hand Steve had been using to fidget with his fork. When Steve looked down at their hands with surprise of his own, Bucky grinned. “Couldn't ever hold my guy's hand in public. Thought I'd embrace the perks of this new century.” When Steve smiled slowly and met his gaze again, Bucky decided to start with something easy. “You were military.”

Squeezing Bucky’s hand, Steve nodded.

“After I left the school, I didn’t really have any place to go, so I joined the Army.”

“Just like that?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Break off your engagement, join the Army? Seems a little -”

“Drastic?” Steve smiled weakly. “Yeah, well, it kind of was, but after leaving I had no job, no place to stay. The army gave me both and, um…” He glanced down and mumbled, “I kind of always imagined joining anyway, so it wasn’t a big leap.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Bucky said quickly, “I completely support a career in the military, I’ve just gotten the impression it’s not a common attitude these days.” Bucky flashed back to how open about his sexuality Steve was and his general individualistic streak, making his next point without having to say a word. “And you don’t strike me as military material.”

Steve snorted, but his smile grew.

“It was an adventure, that’s certain, but I got in after Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed and MI has a _lot_ of uses for a guy with my particular set of skills.”

Bucky could feel his eyebrows raising.

“Is that a Taken reference?”

Smirking, Steve nodded.

“Ten points to Captain America.”

“I actually meant your abilities,” Bucky said, lips twitching. The military acted as if he, and anybody with any set of unique skills, was their sole property. The fact Steve was out now was… surprising, in light of this new information. “You let the military know you had them?” 

“God, no,” Steve shook his head, making a face at the thought. “My… The Professor, he helped me learn how to discuss information I’d gleaned from listening in on people’s thoughts without making it obvious I’d, well, listened in on their thoughts.” He took a sip of his tea. “With the Professor’s connections, it wasn’t exactly difficult to be assigned some place I’d be useful.”

“Who’s this Professor? He seems like a pretty influential guy.”

“Professor Charles Xavier. Officially, he’s the Dean of Xavier’s School for Gifted Children and has an MD and Ph.Ds. in psychology and other sciences. Unofficially? He helps people like… us, like… Scott, who otherwise would be thrown in a lab and studied.”

Bucky blinked; he knew that name. He’d heard it spoken by Tony, and with a dose of respect even, which was a rare thing when he referred to other people with more than one doctorate.

“I think Tony knows him.” 

“Yes.” Steve nodded and refilled Bucky’s cup of tea even though he’d just emptied it. “Pepper works with him more often; that’s how I got in contact with her, and you. He… suggested I could be of use.” He smiled ruefully. “I’ve not met anyone who knows the Professor and doesn’t take his suggestions seriously.”

Bucky snorted. Tony’s reaction when other people were right and he was wrong was always entertaining to watch.

“You spend more time with Tony, that’ll change. But doesn't it seem strange? That we’re coming full circle?”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him as he asked, “What do you mean?”

“You mentioned the school was your home, which you left after your break up with Scott. Now we’re going back there,” Bucky made a circular motion in the air with his fingers. “Circle. Back to where you started.”

“Oh,” Steve shrugged, but didn’t make eye contact, “it’s not like I didn’t keep in touch. The Professor’s been like a father to me, I just… haven’t been back to the school.”

Bucky held his tongue as the waitress brought in the plates. His rolls were so pretty, cut into equal pieces and arranged skillfully on a large flat plate. His nose twitched at the subtle scent and his stomach grumbled long and loud, reminding everyone that it was time to eat. Chuckling, Steve passed him the soy sauce and pulled only a quarter of the rolls towards himself. They had to let go of each other’s hands, but it was worth it for food.

While he mixed some wasabi into his soy sauce in preparation of deliciousness, Bucky asked, “Is Scott a psychic like you?” 

Bucky chose the first piece, dipped it into the sauce and popped it into his mouth. He was so hungry he barely managed to chew for a moment before he was swallowing and repeating the action. Four pieces were gone before Steve even responded to his question.

“No, he’s, um,” Steve ate a piece of sushi, looking at Bucky like he was a two-headed monkey, “are you sure you want me to tell you about Scott? You were, well, pretty jealous.”

“I want to know everything,” Bucky said firmly, thinking of the old adage: know your enemy. Yes, he wanted to know everything about this Scott, preferably starting with weaknesses and ending with exploitable features.

Steve snorted.

“Mind reader, Bucky.” 

Thankfully, he sounded amused, so Bucky made a hurry up motion with his chopsticks before he stabbed them in Steve’s direction. 

“Get on with it then.” 

Wow, but these rolls were good. He demolished four more in quick succession before washing it away with the surprisingly good cherry-flavored green tea. He could taste the stone of the cherry in the light brew. He had to ask the restaurant for the brand’s name; he was sure Bruce would like it. 

“Technically, Scott can project a powerful beam of concussive, ruby-colored force from his eyes.” Steve watched Bucky inhale another two pieces and added slowly, “He shoots lasers out of his eyes.”

For a moment, Bucky stopped inhaling his meal to absorb the information.

“Lasers?” Bucky immediately wondered if the shield could repel lasers. It could with ordinary ones, so it might work against a superpower. Right, Bucky could take Scott. 

“Yeah, and you know, I’m not supposed to tell you that. So I hope you do realize I trust you too, and am hoping you won’t kill my ex.”

Bucky cast another look at the rolls so invitingly arranged on the plate. There were still plenty that very obviously required his attention.

“I’m not planning on killing him,” he mumbled, hovering his chopsticks over the next piece while looking at Steve from under his lashes. “Really,” he promised, licking his lips because those rolls were incredibly fresh and butter-soft in his mouth. Steve swallowed visibly and Bucky realized he was holding the same piece of sushi halfway between his plate and mouth that he’d had for most of their conversation. Experimentally, he licked his lips again and watched Steve’s eyes follow the movement.

A moment later, Steve flushed and mumbled, “Shut up.”

Bucky grinned.

“I didn’t say anything.” 

Of course, he didn’t have to. He liked tasting things, licking them to feel the texture, and that would apply very well to a lover.

“Oh my god,” Steve was flushed a brilliant red, “stop it.”

The problem was, Bucky was hungry. Hungry for the delicious salmon rolls that melted in his mouth. He was also hungry for Steve, his skin, the obvious power in his frame, the confidence and life of him. Since he couldn’t eat Steve at this moment, he refocused his attention on the rolls, picking one up and using the tip of his tongue to swipe against the smooth piece of fish, before popping the thing in his mouth. He liked the contrast of the delicate fish and the harder colder rice. The slight difference in temperature and texture was riveting.

“Bucky,” Steve hissed sharply, “eat like a goddamned normal person, and not someone in a porno.”

Bucky blinked innocently at Steve.

“I like to enjoy things,” he defended, putting the chopsticks down and reaching for the tea.

“Yeah, Bucky, bullshitting a mind reader is right up there with lying to one.” Steve finally brought the sushi to his mouth, but said, “You have more questions, so…?” before popping it in.

Bucky grinned, wide and rakish. 

“I do.” He nodded and then pointed towards Steve’s barely-started meal. “Enjoy another roll, then tell me why you don’t want to go home.”

Making a face, Steve obeyed in picking up some food, but it didn’t make it to his mouth again.

“I thought that was obvious. It’s Scott’s home, too. While I was kicked out of my home, Scott’s parents died. When his powers manifested, he blew up the plane.” Bucky picked his own chopsticks again but instead of reaching for his own plate he aimed for Steve’s. The psychic’s chopsticks came down on his with a clack as he narrowed his eyes and pointedly brought the neglected piece to his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he continued. “It’s his home and… I haven’t seen him since. He’s kind of the head teacher, so there’s no way he’ll miss me coming back.”

Bucky frowned, eating two more pieces of his own rolls and eyeing Steve’s plate hungrily. His looked very inviting, like they could benefit from Bucky’s attention. The psychic all but stabbed his plate and ate another piece vindictively. Bucky retreated to his own plate, waiting for a better opportunity for some forceful extraction. Steve snorted at him and took another piece off his plate. So much fire in the guy.

“Did Scott forbid you from coming back?” Bucky asked.

“What?” Steve sounded offended. “Of course not! Scott’s not that kind of guy. I just,” he looked down, “it’s his home and I didn’t want to make it harder for him to be there.”

“It’s your home, too.” Bucky put down the roll he had halfway to his mouth. “You can’t just throw that away,” because you couldn't always go back. Bucky was a prime example.

Steve let out a long sigh through his nose and looked up at Bucky again.

“Yeah, but I’m the one who made promises he couldn’t keep, and broke off an engagement a few weeks before the wedding. He needed to be home. I didn’t.”

Bucky considered Steve’s words. Steve had already admitted that he’d been the one who’d broken off the engagement. However, Bucky hadn’t expected Steve to be the ‘guilty’ party, so to say. He halfway expected to hear a story about a last minute argument, or even infidelity, not Steve taking all the blame on himself.

“Some things really are black and white,” Steve said softly. “So, when I told you it’s over, I mean it’s _over_. Besides that I would never go back, he’d never _take_ me back.”

“Those are two different things,” he huffed, stabbing his chopsticks in Steve’s direction. “What if he forgave you? What if he still loved you and wanted you back?”

Steve gave him a long look.

“That's _why_ it’s two things. I can’t… ever keep the promise I made him, and you know, it was years ago, Bucky. I feel terrible still, but I’m not in love with him.”

Bucky looked down at his plate, only a dozen pieces left.

“Sometimes feelings of guilt tie us to a person more strongly than any romance. It’s not… it’s not so black or white. It never ends so simply.” 

God knows Bucky knew what he was talking about.

“You’re right.” Bucky looked up at Steve in surprise, finding him filling his teacup again. “I will always be tied to Scott, but I’d be tied to anyone I became so close to. I’d… like to see if we can become close. If you can ever separate me from him.”

“Am I thinking about him when I look at you?”

“No,” Steve smiled slightly, “which… fifty points to Captain America?”

Bucky smirked, tilting his head in acknowledgement.

“And the kid the witch was talking about? Wanda?”

“I don’t know her, but to apprentice to the Grande Dame of New York City means she’s got some juice. Agatha doesn’t teach just anyone, let alone take them on as an apprentice.”

“Er… Grande Dame?” Bucky picked up another piece of sushi. The rolls were becoming rather scarce on his plate. “I think you need to tell me more about this whole ‘magical community’.”

Biting the roll in half, Bucky gently sucked to get the piece of salmon out. Once it popped into his mouth he flattened it against his palate, enjoying the softness and smoothness of the delicate meat before chewing it. He liked adding the soy sauce to the rice, but would often leave the fish unseasoned. There was something very alluring in the absolute fragility of the meat. He chewed thoughtfully, then licked his lips, enjoying the sting of salt on the tip of his tongue. He murmured his approval and looked down at the rapidly dwindling amount of rolls on his plate. He might need to order more, or steal from Steve.

Nodding and finishing his mouthful, Steve swallowed and pulled his plate further out of Bucky’s reach.

“The greatest witch in all of New York City, the Grande Dame. She’s the tie breaker of the Grande Coven, the thirteen strongest witches in the city, but she’s also their diplomat, and has a strong sway over most of the community. The community,” Steve said louder as Bucky opened his mouth to ask, “is anyone who can use magic. No matter the kind or the strength of their power, they answer to the Coven and the Coven’s laws.”

Bucky sighed.

“Why does it feel like I’m suddenly in a teenage vampire movie?” 

There was some soy sauce on his finger so he sucked that clean, smacking his lips gently to relish the exquisite taste the food left him with. This restaurant was definitely going into his top five. Those rolls were exquisite and the soy sauce was also perfect. Not as terribly salty as some places had, this was just right. Dark and smooth and full-bodied, it fit the delicate salmon perfectly.

Steve stared at him and then raised his hand, waving over the waitress.

“What?” Bucky asked, confused.

“To-go boxes,” Steve told the woman, his smile strained, “and the check.”

“Um,” Bucky said again, “What?” He looked around. Nobody was staring at him, he couldn’t have done anything wrong.

Their waitress just ignored them and Steve finally met his gaze again.

“You are having sex with your food and think I’m gonna put up with it a minute longer?” Steve leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Did you miss the part today where I said I _want_ you, Bucky?”

“Um,” Bucky managed to get out, suddenly losing all interest in his food. He didn't know sex was almost literally on the table. “I enjoy using my mouth,” he blurted out, changing tack fast.

“You didn’t know _sex_ was on the table?” Steve asked, incredulous. “We made out in your apartment, I told you I’d do _things_ to you in bed, and then let you grind on my ass, twice, on my bike?”

“Well,” Bucky nodded, remembering that moment fondly, “I thought you meant someday in the future. You made it clear it wasn’t going to happen _now_ ,” and oh, but Bucky would have enjoyed that so much. Just getting his hands on Steve and touching him, tasting him, maybe licking him from head to toe to see if he tasted good everywhere.

“Jesus, Bucky,” Steve gasped, breathing suddenly harsh. “Stop it. You are damned well going a on date with me first. Tonight. Remember?”

Bucky nodded his head, eyes glued to the angry stretch of Steve’s shirt across his beautifully developed chest. The way he was folding his arms in front of himself only made his pecs stand out in firm definition. Bucky wondered if he would be allowed to put his mouth on them and suck. Maybe bite, or nibble...

“Barnes!” Bucky’s head snapped up, the last name catching all of his attention. “Focus!”

“I can honestly say you are the only thing I’m thinking about now,” he promised, his voice dropping.

“Yeah,” Steve said dryly, “I noticed. We gotta get through the day, pal.”

Bucky’s wits came back to him finally and he grinned, casting Steve a sly look.

“I’m a man of substantial appetites,” he stretched his leg under the table and bumped Steve’s foot gently. “And I’m still hungry.”

“Fine,” Steve said, and Bucky paused because he _knew_ that look. A challenge accepted. “Two can play this game.” Standing, Steve dropped several twenties on the table and used the action to lean down next to Bucky’s ear. “I’ll let you suck, _and_ bite, and, if you’re really, really good, tell you where I keep my rope. You can tie me up however you like.” 

Before Bucky could respond, the waitress returned and Steve pushed the boxes at Bucky.

“Now I’m gonna go outside and calm down. Box up our food, huh?” Bucky swallowed hard when Steve added, “I’m sure you want to be good.”

Bucky took in a long, deep breath.

“Your word is my command,” he murmured, watching Steve turn sharply and stride to the door. Who knew sushi would turn out to be such a great idea?


	7. Meeting the Ex and the Inlaws

When they approached the gates of the school, Bucky was confused to say the least. They didn’t appear to be approaching a school at all, but a heavily fortified mansion. The only confirmation that they were in the right place was the modest, stone carved sign to the left of the long driveway reading Xavier’s School for Gifted Youth. Yet the gate was fortified against heavy attacks, and cameras covered every square inch of the grounds. Bucky was left wondering what Xavier was so paranoid about.

The thick iron gates swung inward as they drove up. Bucky glanced at the intercom as they passed and wondered why Steve didn’t even look towards it, much less use it. It didn’t make sense. All the defenses, the heavy fortifications, and the gates just opened? The wrongness of it had the muscles of Bucky’s back tensing. He didn't like it; it was too illogical.

Past the walls, the grounds were well cared for, lawns and shrubs neatly trimmed, flower beds well maintained. The driveway wound its way past, straight up to the mansion itself. Steve drove them through an archway of golden stone into a large square courtyard, edged with greenery. High arched windows looked out upon a stairway that led to the main doors of the house. The mansion itself was more of the same stone, old and ancient, sprawling outward, instead of upward. It offered a sense of wealth, but a different kind than Bucky was used to from Tony. It was older, calmer. Like the Rockefellers, or the nobility of England. Old money, long established, and far more concerned with appearances. 

A lean, young man waited for them in front of the paneled arched wooden doors. He had long, auburn hair and wore red sunglasses, black jeans, a matching long-sleeved shirt, and red sneakers. Bucky highly doubted he was a teacher. 

Steve stopped the motorcycle at the steps, bracing his legs as he waited for Bucky to dismount. Bucky lingered for a second, enjoying the feeling of the muscles under his hands, before he let go of Steve. The contact wasn’t one he wanted to give up easily, but they did have a world to save, and he pulled his helmet off. Steve did the same, and Bucky smiled at the way his short hair stuck up adorably. 

A long, jarringly loud whistle interrupted his appreciation of the view.

“On the one hand, you really know how to pick them...” The young man’s accent was thick, southern, crossed with maybe French. “On the other, _damn_ , is it going to be awkward.”

“Remy,” Steve greeted, turning towards the stranger who was now grinning as he walked down the steps. Bucky could admit he had a nice smile and handsome features, even if his glasses hid his eyes completely. “You’re taller.”

The grin sharpened.

“And you’re hotter.”

Bucky growled quietly, in the back of his throat, and Remy turned towards Bucky, all long lines and mischief. Even though they looked nothing alike, Loki sprang to mind.

“Remy LeBeau,” he made a show of looking Bucky up and down as he and Steve climbed off the bike.

“I’m…” Bucky began, but the boy - because he couldn’t be older than twenty two - interrupted him.

Remy nodded as if confirming his next words, “A troublemaker. We know.” 

“James Barnes,” Bucky continued stubbornly. He was not going to be provoked by a kid, especially on what amounted to his first meeting with the inlaws.

Steve coughed behind him.

Remy’s sharp smile softened for a moment.

“Captain America. Yeah, we know that too.”

Bucky turned to Steve.

“This school takes in people like us.” Steve shrugged. “There’s no secrets here.”

“Hard to keep any when domions like you are walkin’ about everywhere.”

Steve huffed and glared playfully at Remy, but returned the hug the cajun offered tightly.

“I’m not a peeping tom, besides which,” Steve looked to Bucky, “No one can read Remy. He’s like a T.V. with no signal: all white noise.”

Grinning rakishly, Remy said, “Well, you might have gotten hotter, but you still don’t know how to compliment a man at all.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to compliment _you_?” Bucky injected, irked with the way Remy was still standing in Steve’s personal space. 

The boy just smirked and extended his hand to Bucky.

“Everybody want’s to compliment me. I’m pretty as sin.”

“More like you’ve got a mouth full of sin,” Steve said dryly.

The boy laughed and pumped Bucky’s hand as he shook reluctantly.

“Oh my friend, you got that one right.” 

Remy’s eyebrows waggled at Bucky from above his glasses as he leered. Steve snorted and took Bucky’s arm, gently pulling to disentangle him from Remy’s grip.

“Don’t listen to anything he says,” Steve warned, leading Bucky toward the house. “He’s a charmer, literally.”

Remy huffed, pouting, but followed along behind them.

“You could share a little, you know. I’ve heard things about that super serum. We need to verify its veracity. For the good of the world!”

“I can handle that by myself, thanks,” Steve shot back, making Remy laugh again. 

Bucky felt a frisson of pleasure curl in his belly at the possessive remark. He liked that Steve was jealous of him. It made him puff out his chest, preening for his audience. 

The entry hall Steve lead him into was vast, ceilings towering nearly twenty feet above his head. Grand was the only way he’d describe it, marble floors, wood paneled walls, but Bucky didn’t have a lot of time to take it in. Steve’s hand gripped his arm like a vice as he froze at Bucky’s side. Then he was pulling away, but only millimeters before his hand tightened again, even harder, making Bucky’s bicep ache. When he looked to Steve, he found him pale and staring, and following his gaze made it obvious why. Two men stood on the landing between the stairs leading up to the second floor, one older, grisled, the other young and tall. 

“Logan.” Steve swallowed. “Scott.”

Bucky stared at both men. The shorter man was shockingly familiar; his untamed hair and the way he stood, projecting male dominance and primal challenge, one proprietary hand on the younger man’s lower back. Bucky rubbed his eyes and looked again, not quite willing to believe what he had seen. He knew that face, knew that stance. Hell, he knew the glare he was receiving, but it shouldn’t have been possible. James Logan was dead, like all the others Bucky had served with in World War II.

Steve’s attention was completely on the other guy and Bucky couldn't help but shift his focus to him. Short, perfectly combed brown hair, a polo shirt and khakis, he was also wearing red polarized glasses. What was it with the fucking glasses? Was it a cool-kids club badge or something? The guy was tall and fit, with the stiffest posture Bucky had ever seen. He looked as if he was made of marble, his face set into careful blankness and body so tense Bucky was surprised he was standing without cracking a rib. The sheer tension radiating from him was enough to tell him that this was Scott. This was the… ex. The man Steve had almost married. The man who had taught Steve to be free with his desires. He was the man who had gotten all Steve’s firsts, who still had such a hold on Steve it made Bucky’s teeth ache.

“Hey, kid,” Logan rumbled and Bucky’s attention skipped back to him because it was the same goddamn _voice_. Bucky’s stomach clenched and twisted, the meal he’d had not long ago now uncomfortably heavy in his stomach. His heart was beating unevenly, and Bucky honestly had no idea what was happening, couldn't trust the evidence of his senses. “Captain; been awhile.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, but before either could say or think anything, Scott stated coldly, “See you finally found him. Got your happily ever after.”

Bucky looked back to Steve, and the hand still clutching his arm, the knuckles white, and remembered how unsurprised Remy had been to see Bucky. It had been odd, but not totally surprising since there were psychics amongst them. However, there was so much cold spite in Scott’s voice, so obviously directed at _Bucky_ , a man he’d never met, or couldn’t know about. 

He hadn’t required an introduction, it was personal. Scott knew who Bucky was. Moreover, his words implied that it was also expected that Steve had brought _Bucky_. Specifically Bucky, not any other Avenger. It was… Bucky looked to Steve’s pale face again. Steve must have kept some things hidden from him after all. Because this? This was a classic case of people talking about him over his head. 

“Scott, don’t,” Steve said stiffly.

Scott tilted his head towards him, the glass’s reflective surface disturbingly blank.

“It’s good to know you still remember my name,” Scott’s voice was just as cold and sharp, no mercy in it whatsoever. 

“Of course, I know -”

“That’s enough, kids,” Logan drawled, though Bucky noted he hadn’t stepped away from Scott’s side, or removed the hand from his back. “Believe the captain is here for a reason.”

“Yes,” Scott said, “and we can see the only reason Steve's stepped foot in this place again is for that man, so we better hurry up. Wouldn’t want to keep him in a place he hates so much longer than necessary.” 

With that he turned sharply on his heel and walked away up the stairs. Logan frowned, watching him go, but Steve took off at Bucky’s side. Something horrible lurched in Bucky’s stomach as he watched Steve run after his ex, taking the stairs two at a time and calling after him. Calling for him to wait and stop. Bucky wanted to grab him, stop him, but it was like watching a train wreck - he couldn’t move, just stood and watched as they disappeared down a hallway on the second floor.

“Leave them to it,” Logan rumbled when Bucky finally managed to put a foot forward. “They won’t stop until they figure it out between themselves.”

“But,” Bucky protested and Logan shook his head sharply.

“At worst, they’ll just have a reconciliation quickie in the hallway,” Remy interjected from behind Bucky. “God knows these hallways have seen worse.”

Bucky could feel his jaw dropping, words dying in his throat. Logan growled, a low, animalistic sound, Bucky watched Remy change the directions - because the little shit had actually been planning to follow Steve and Scott - and head down a different corridor on the first floor.

“Or they won’t,” Remy called as he walked away. “What do I know?’ I only grew up with them.”

“They won’t,” Logan rumbled, crossing his arms even as he glanced after Steve and Scott with as close to a worried expression as Bucky had ever seen on the guy. “Just gotta trust them.”

Bucky was trying to trust Steve, he was. Yet his mind was swirling with images, a veritable movie playing out where Steve apologized and Scott begged him to come back. Where they did fuck in the hallway, Steve against the wall, Scott behind him. Steve screaming his name, begging for more, and harder, and -

“Captain?”

Startled, Bucky focused on Logan. While he had been preoccupied, the Canadian had come down the stairs and was standing at his side. Logan was a memorable man, and Bucky was sure he couldn’t be any other man than the one he met during the War. 

“James Logan,” Bucky said slowly, “the Devil’s Brigade.”

“Yeah,” Logan nodded. “As I said, it’s been awhile.”

Bucky opened his mouth, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, but closed it without speaking. He had no idea what to ask first.

“How?” he managed to squeeze out finally, the enormity of meeting somebody from his previous life, the same as he’d been then. “You look _exactly_ the same.”

Logan grinned wryly. 

“I’m a mutant, like Steve.”

“You’re a psychic?” Bucky blurted out, confused and reeling from the revelation that it really was the same James Logan he had served with.

Logan huffed out a laugh.

“No,” he said with remarkable patience. “I have a healing factor that keeps me alive.” 

He raised his hand and curled it into a loose fist. The skin between his knuckles broke as a wickedly sharp, metal blade poked out from between the second and third knuckle for a few inches before retracting. The split of skin bled, but knitted together before Bucky’s eyes, faster than his own would have done. 

“Oh,” Bucky said dumbly, staring at the blood left behind. There was no other sign that he’d been cut, or where the blood had come from. “So you… can’t die?”

“I don’t know,” Logan shrugged, a sad twist to his lips. “Nothing’s stuck so far.” 

Bucky shook his head hard and glanced back to where he’d last seen Steve. It was all a little too much to take in. Steve running off after Scott, Logan surviving, mutants, well… existing. None of it was trivial, either. 

Logan had been a friend, a brother in arms. Mutants and psychics and magic changed the fabric of the universe. Steve… there was nothing more important than Steve. Yet Bucky wasn’t sure how to file all this information, file Steve’s secrets and… Bucky swallowed. Lies, they were lies. The only possible explanation was that Steve had lied about _something_.

“You shouldn’t worry about them, you know,” Logan said, interrupting Bucky’s thoughts. “Scott doesn’t want him back.”

“Did you see how angry he was?” Bucky shook his head. “That is not a man who has gotten over things.”

“It’s not the lover he wants back,” Logan said confidently. “It’s the friend.”

“How can you be so sure?” Bucky shot back. “You and Scott seemed rather chummy. Don’t you worry? They were engaged.”

Logan moved away from him and leaned back against the nearest wall, obviously settling in to wait.

“Scott lost his family when he was ten years old. Coming here, he found a new one. He and Steve were thick as thieves for years. They were close friends, family, for five years _before_ they started dating. When Steve broke off the engagement? Yeah, that hurt Scott, but he would have gotten over it. What he hasn’t forgiven Steve for is running away. When he did that, he took Scott’s closest friend away too, and he hasn’t been back. Hopefully,” Logan looked up and shrugged, “they can move past it. It’s been three years.”

“That’s not a lot of time,” Bucky said darkly, shoving his hand through his hair.

Logan snorted and shook his head, but must have thought Bucky a lost cause because he changed the subject.

“So when did Steve come and find you?”

“Uh,” Bucky floundered, “yesterday? And it was more a case of him trying to run away and me chasing him down in an elevator.”

Logan frowned.

“He’s always been stubborn to a fault.” Logan shook his head. “Well, I’m glad you two are together again.”

Bucky straightened, every molecule on high alert. He felt like he was hovering on the cusp of a revelation, the secrets Steve was keeping. Logan’s words were pushing him towards it, but it was just beyond his grasp.

“Again?” he demanded. “What do you mean _again_?”


	8. Truth At Last

“Hang on,” Logan called as Bucky charged off up the stairs, but Bucky ignored him. They may have fought side-by-side, but Bucky wasn’t stopping for anything. Not when Scott knew who he was and Steve was back with him _again_. Not when it was so clear Steve had been lying that morning, and yesterday, and every moment they’d been together. Lying, and if Bucky was right, would continue to lie to him if he didn't confront the issue right away, because Logan was right, Steve had always been a stubborn bastard.

Bucky turned the corner and skidded to a stop outside a partially closed door. Through the crack he heard voices, one he didn’t know, but the other he would know anywhere, anytime. He shoved through and froze again. This was the right place, but it wasn’t what he expected to see. Steve was hugging Scott tight, the dark haired head tucked against his shoulder. It wasn’t the hug, though, that made Bucky stop as if he had run into a brick wall. It was how they were doing it. Steve was holding Scott as if the other man was fragile and precious. One of his big hands was curled around the back of Scott’s head, fingers tangled into the short hair, the other was on his back, pressing hard between his shoulderblades - pressing Scott as close to him as he could get him. Steve’s face was pinched with worry, but turned as Bucky slammed through the door, confused and distracted, frowning as he met Bucky’s gaze.

Then he went stiff and still and muttered, “Oh, Jesus.”

“What?” Scott asked, tilting his head up, eyes tightly closed, before jamming his glasses back onto his face. He turned his head toward Bucky and went stiff, but looked worriedly at Steve, repeating, “What?” innocently, as if they hadn't been embracing like reunited lovers. 

Steve swallowed hard and stepped away from Scott, but didn’t look away from Bucky as he said, “I might not have told him.”

Brown hair flew, no longer perfectly combed, as Scott looked between them quickly.

“You didn’t _what_?” Scott nearly shouted. “Jesus, Steve. Which _part_?”

 _Part_? There were _parts_ to the secrets? Bucky looked at Steve and growled a little. “Tell me what?” Bucky demanded. “What everyone else here already knows?”

Behind Bucky, the door was knocked against the wall again as Logan stormed through. He took one look at them all, strode across the room, and grabbed Scott by the back of the neck. Then he turned and started marching him back out the door.

“Logan, wait,” Scott protested, but to no avail.

“He made his bed,” Logan grumbled, “let him lie in it.”

“But,” Scott began, but the door slamming behind them cut off anything else Steve’s ex had to say.

“Start talking,” Bucky demanded, prowling closer to Steve.

“Bucky,” Steve said, taking a step back so his shoulders struck against the chalkboard.

“Don’t you _Bucky_ me,” Bucky snapped. “You’ve been lying to me. You’ve been lying to me this whole damned time, and you’re gonna stop now. You’re him, aren’t you? Don’t you fucking lie to me, Steve Rogers.”

Reaching Steve, Bucky grabbed him by the shoulder and held him in place against the wall. There was no way he was going to run away this time, or hide his face. If he lied, Bucky would know and… Well, Bucky didn’t know what he’d do if Steve kept lying to him. He’d never lied before and it never would have crossed his mind that Steve would, or even could. 

“No, I’m not,” Steve started and Bucky felt something hollow spread in his chest at the lie, “but I remember,” he added quickly. “I remember… being him.”

Bucky was no stranger to battle, he knew how to take a hit of any kind, but this one sentence felt like a kick to his chest. His breath rushed out of his lungs and his eyes went blurry as his whole world tilted on its axis. Steve didn’t just look like his Stevie, he didn’t just talk like him...

Steve was… Steve. Was _his_ Steve. Stevie. 

The anger felt hollow in his chest, as if Bucky was still too dazed to grasp the truth properly. All the times Steve had yelled at Bucky for mixing them up, for looking at him and seeing his old lover, and all of it was a lie. 

“It’s not,” Steve hissed. “I am not him. I’ve lived twenty-eight more years than him.”

“You say you remember him,” Bucky interrupted the protest. “Do you remember me, too?”

The fight and anger went out of Steve, his eyes softening.

“Yeah… Yeah, I remember you.”

“Am I the same man you remember?” he demanded. “Am I the same _exact_ man?”

“I -” Steve blinked rapidly. “No,” he whispered, “you’re… No.”

Bucky exhaled, trying rid himself of his anger and his exasperation with the breath. This felt like progress, they were finally communicating. He didn't want to ruin it with frustration.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why?” Steve stared at Bucky incredulously. “ _Why_? I remembered when I was five. _Five_ , Bucky. I remembered growing up, living, loving you, and _dying_. I remembered everything and no one…” Bitter, angry emotions seeped into Steve’s voice and made his face red and blotchy. “My mom thought I had the devil in me. She left us when I was six. My dad,” Steve laughed, like no sound Bucky’d ever heard; like it hurt coming out, “he started drinking, but instead of just kicking my ass all the time, he tried to kill me. If Professor Xavier hadn’t heard, hadn’t stopped him, that would have been the end of that story. But I got lucky and he took me to this school. Helped me learn about my powers and tried to help me come to terms with my past, with _you_.” Steve’s eyes blazed with fury, taking Bucky by surprise. “You’ve haunted me my entire life. I’ve mourned you, I’ve hated you, I’ve loved you, and I tried to _forget_ you for twenty years. I finally found something like happiness, and then you fucking came _back_ and it started all over again!”

Bucky recoiled from the pain and rage in Steve’s voice, the accusation in his gaze. 

“You wanted to know why I left Scott? Because you came _back_. Because every time he wondered if he was good enough, if I loved you more, and I told him he was _good enough_ was a lie. Every time. Because for some goddamned reason I can’t move past you. I have loved you for thirty years and I’m so goddamned mad at you for that!”

Bucky raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, wanting to calm Steve, but at the same time reveling in those words. Steve loved him. Then and now, all the time. He hadn’t moved on from him… the same exact way Bucky had never moved on from Steve.

“God, you are _such_ a jerk,” Steve cried out, even as he slumped against the wall and covered his eyes. 

“I won’t apologise for loving you!” Bucky snapped. “The old you, the new you. I fucking loved you my whole life and mourned you, too! So excuse me while I’m fucking happy about you still - again loving me!”

Steve snorted, lowering his hands and Bucky sighed. He was pretty sure there had never been an angrier declaration of love in all of history. Cupping Steve’s face, he brushed the moisture that had gathered on his lashes because Steve in any century would hate crying. 

“I can’t believe I fell for your stupid smile and puppy dog eyes twice.”

“Twice,” Bucky huffed. “Nice try. You never landed.”

“Uh uh,” Steve nudged Bucky’s hand off his face, “I’m still mad at you.”

Bucky grinned.

“Sure you are.”

Though he tried, Steve couldn’t hide his smile completely. Bucky couldn’t stop staring at how long his lashes were, and how dark and clumped together with remnants of tears they were. He was beautiful.

“So, now what?” Steve muttered.

“You’re taller than me,” Bucky whispered.

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Spine’s straight.”

“How does it…work?” Bucky asked. He reached out and flattened his palm against the ridiculous stretch of Steve’s pecs under the t-shirt. The body under his hands was warm, powerful, and so very alive. The Steve of his memories was always cold, his body fragile, barely able to contain the spirit that had lived within. This… this fit so much better. Sturdy and sexy. “How are you… How can you remember?”

“I don’t know.” Steve covered Bucky’s hand with his own, smiling at him almost shyly. “I’ve always had these memories. His, mine, it’s hard for me to really say which is which. Why?” Steve asked before Bucky could voice the thought. “I don’t know that either. I grew up remembering a life that wasn’t mine, being in love with a man who was dead.” His voice turned bitter and he looked away. “A man I was told was a hero and loved a woman he met during the war. A man who left me to die and never once wrote.”

“I wrote every day,” Bucky argued, leaning against Steve. Steve didn’t move. “I did, Stevie, but Pegs told me they couldn’t be sent in case any sensitive information was intercepted by the Nazis.” 

Once again Steve’s lip curled at Peggy’s name, but he snapped, “I never got any letters!” He threw his hands up and Bucky almost stepped back, but he couldn’t; couldn’t stop touching him. “You were just gone and done with me! You abandoned me, you promised you’d come back, that you’d still be mine and… God.” Steve covered his face with his hands and slid down the wall until Bucky caught him, arms around his waist. “And then you came back and I did the same damn thing to Scott.” He squeezed his eyes tightly. “Jesus, it’s all fucked up.”

Bucky sighed and leaned closer to Steve, pressing their foreheads together. He understood, maybe for the first time, that the right thing wasn’t always the best thing. By going out with all those dames to make sure nobody thought ill of Steve or him, he had hurt Steve. By not finding a way for his letters to reach Steve, he protected the war effort, but he hurt Steve even more. He had let the most important person in his life believe, with every fiber of his being, that he was somehow not as important as anything else in Bucky’s life. Abandoned. By trying to do right by him, Bucky had harmed the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Bucky murmured, touching Steve’s tense shoulders carefully. “Peggy,” he could feel the way Steve all but flinched at the name, “she said I couldn’t send the letters, that it was dangerous That all information was classified and… and the censorship… I’m so sorry. I should have found a way.” He his grip on Steve’s shoulders when he felt him try to pull away. “I got complacent. I believed things would work out. That I would get back to Brooklyn and we would live together. I… I lived a dream, and I am so sorry for having left you with the harsh reality alone.”

Steve stopped resisting Bucky’s touch, but pain was coming off of him in waves.

“You were with her,” Steve said helplessly, anger having faded away.

“You were gone,” Bucky pleaded, needing Steve to believe him. “I was so alone, my whole reason for doing what I did was gone and buried... and she was there.” He swallowed thickly, pulling at Steve until he could wrap him in his arms, feel the warm body against his, and was surprised when Steve all but melted against him. “She was the only one who knew about you, knew how hard it was for me that you were gone.” His voice cracked. “I never wanted to leave you. Stevie, I never…”

Steve surged upward, caught a fistful of Bucky’s hair, and yanked him in. This kiss was rougher than their last, and Bucky didn’t try to control it. He kissed back for all he was worth, thanking god for this miracle ,and knowing one thing for certain: the dragon wasn’t going to get Steve. Bucky wouldn’t lose him again. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.

A soft, wounded cry left Steve and he pulled back, shaking his head. Bucky watched with horror and fascination as a tear slipped down, over his cheekbone. Because why was Steve crying _now_?

“You have to let me go,” Steve whispered. “Bucky, you have to.”

“I won’t,” Bucky protested immediately, no doubt in his mind that he would kill, would die himself to keep Steve safe this time, even if he didn’t know why Steve would say so.

Steve let out a cross between a laugh and a sob, framing Bucky’s face with his hands. 

“Bucky, if the dragon gets Zola, we all die. All of us, the whole world. That’s why I lied about it, when you guessed. You have to let the dragon take me instead. You have to, or we don’t stand a chance.”

Bucky stared at Steve, not able to comprehend his words. Steve or the world. Steve. His Steve. The one he’d just now got back. He dropped his hands from Steve’s and laughed. He laughed and laughed until he was dizzy from the lack of oxygen; until his lungs and belly burned and he still laughed. 

“Bucky?” Steve asked nervously. “Bucky, you’re scaring me, I’m not gonna lie.” 

Hiccuping, Bucky swallowed the last of the laughter, his throat sore and lungs tight.

“Why,” he asked between hiccups, “would you think that the world would even matter to me without you?”

Stepping forward, Steve caught him by the shirt again, eyes and expression desperate.

“That’s why I didn’t _tell you_. Bucky, Buck, _love_ , you gotta.”

Bucky flinched, the pet name like a bucket of cold water. Steve so rarely used any endearments, and then only when he was particularly emotional. Hearing it now, ‘love’, it hurt as much as losing Steve.

“Ask me,” he said hoarsely, desperately, feeling the fragile hope in his chest curl up and die. “ _Ask_ me.”

Twisting his head, Steve nodded as another tear splashed onto his perfect cheekbone. He understood, at least, what Bucky needed. That he couldn’t do it unless Steve asked him to.

“Promise me,” Steve whispered, hoarse and broken, “that you’ll let me go.”

Bucky’s throat hurt, so tight he could barely swallow. His nose was clogged up and the burn in his eyes was a clear indication that he was crying, even if he couldn't feel the tears on his face. He couldn't feel anything but the horrible screeching terror inside him. 

“I swear.” 

The voice didn’t sound like him. It was a broken, shattered thing that signaled he had lost the only hope for a second chance, for true happiness. Whether Bucky lived or died, and at this moment he couldn’t care less, he would never again be as happy, as full of life, as he was with Steve. If Steve died on Bucky's watch again, through Bucky's fault again, his body might live through it, but he knew that he would be nothing more than a shell of himself, a ghost walking among the living. He could not survive it again, he’d hated surviving it the first time, and that hadn’t even been his own choice. 

He stared at Steve, beautiful and broken, so alive, yet ready to die already, and remembered something Steve’s mother had told him once when they were both just teenagers. 

“You will ruin him,” she had murmured one day when he’d been standing vigil at Steve’s sickbed. No truer words had ever been said. In this moment, Bucky hated himself so much. Her words had come true over and over again. It seemed that whenever he met Steve, he always destroyed him. Like Bucky was poison, leeching away the life of the people he loved.

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “No, you never did. Bucky.” His hands pushed Bucky’s hair out of his eyes, brushed the tears from his cheeks, “You’re not the cause of this.”

“You can't argue with the evidence.” He spread his arms, palms up, showing Steve the wretched whole of himself. “Once might have been a coincidence, but twice?”

“We’re not a love story, fine.” He pressed his hand to Bucky’s cheek and the other to his heart. “We’re a tragedy, but that doesn’t make it your fault. No more than it’s mine. I’m just as much a part of this as you are - hell, I’m the one that keeps fucking dying.” Steve’s face twisted in grief. “And I’m so sorry, love. I’m so, so sorry, but I’m _here_. Okay? For now, I’m here.”

Bucky didn't answer with words, there wasn’t enough will in him to answer just then. He had gotten the love of his life back in the same moment he was told he was going to lose that love again. The vicious circle of pain and suffering would continue, extinguishing his hopes whenever they rose up. He would do what Steve asked, and he would try to get as much of Steve as he could while he was still here, but the deadline looming over them tinged all the joy with sorrow. The love felt bitter now.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered again, their foreheads pressed together, and he was crying right along with Bucky. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Bucky managed to croak. It was so much to take in. Steve and the vision. So much to do, so little time. So precious, little time. 

Gripping Steve’s hand, Bucky was on the verge of telling him they had to go, go home, spend their last moments together, but the door opened again. Steve twitched, but he didn’t leap away from Bucky, just turned his head and wiped the last of the tears from his cheeks.

“I am very sorry to interrupt,” a gentle, English-accented voice said, “but I believe you’re looking for Wanda.”

“Professor,” Steve murmured, and Bucky turned to look with him. A small man sat - well, floated in an odd-looking chair. He was bald, with sparkling hazel eyes and a kind smile. At his side stood a woman looking distinctly uncomfortable and exactly like the long-haired beauty in Steve’s drawing. A wave of irrational hatred swept through Bucky at the sight, because if they hadn’t come here, if there hadn’t been a prophecy…

_Then you would not have Steve._

The voice was identical to the old man’s, but Bucky was certain no one had spoken aloud. Steve was still trying to mask his grief, and the old man was still smiling, tender, as if he understood.

Right, Bucky thought, a house full of psychics.

“I have let Wanda know the circumstances that brings you together,” Xavier went on as if he hadn’t just spoken inside Bucky’s mind. “She is happy to accompany you and help defeat your metaphorical dragon.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Steve sounded stifled and unsteady, but much more put together than Bucky was managing right now. “Wanda, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Steve, this is Bucky. Captain America.”

“Hello,” the girl said, the word tinged with an eastern-European accent. “I’m sorry we interrupted.”

“No, it’s fine,” Steve clearly lied.

“I’ve taken the liberty of putting your motorcycle in the garage, Steven,” Xavier turned, though Bucky was still not sure how the chair was floating or moving at all, “and have had Remy pull a car around to the front for you to drive back to Manhattan.” Pausing, he glanced at Steve and Bucky, then added, “Remy will take you.”

Bucky glanced at Steve, still pale with splotches of red on his cheeks, nose running. Just like Bucky’s own. He looked down at his hands and wasn’t surprised to find them shaking. Yeah. Having somebody else do the driving was probably a good thing.

As he was looking at his hands, Steve took his right one and squeezed hard.

“Still here,” he murmured.

Bucky closed his eyes, feeling a surge of gratitude that, for at least an hour, he wouldn’t need to do anything but be with Steve. 

_Thank you_ , Bucky tried to keep the thought concise and tight, picturing it shooting straight at the Professor. He had no idea how psychic communication worked, but this method seemed to work before with Steve. Even now, Steve smiled weakly at him.

 _Have faith_ , the warm voice of the professor sounded in his mind again. _The future, by its very nature, is a fluid thing. Do not lose hope._

Steve’s hand tightened hard in his own, suggesting he had heard as well.

“I never said you couldn’t try to save me after,” Steve blurted, eyes widening. Bucky turned to him and was surprised by his intensity, the way he was nearly vibrating. “You have to let the dragon grab me, Bucky. You have to let go, but then…”

“I can save you.”

The words made Bucky’s heart pound, the world tilting as he was overwhelmed with terror. It would be on him, then. Steve would be in danger, from what they still didn’t know, and if it all went wrong, if Steve died anyway, it would be Bucky’s fault. He’d lose Steve again and it would be his fault. His responsibility.

“Whatever you need,” the girl, Wanda, said suddenly, “I’ll help however I can.”

“Thank you,” Bucky nodded at her, too preoccupied to consider her presence. All he wanted was to close his eyes and have some time to think, to parse the events of the day. To make sure Steve was still there, still alive and whole beside him.

“Come on,” Steve said, tugging Bucky to the door. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to the Tower, okay?” 

“Okay,” Bucky said, letting Steve lead him.

“Okay,” Wanda said, following behind.

It was after they’d climbed into the car, Steve and Bucky in the back, Wanda up front with Remy, that Xavier spoke to Bucky one last time. _Any dream worth having, is a dream worth fighting for_. Taking a deep breath, Bucky looked to Steve and didn’t think he had heard. The words were for him and him alone.

Reaching over Steve, he undid the seatbelt, then wrapped an arm around Steve’s waist and hauled him bodily into his lap. Steve went without protest, surprised, but settling in Bucky’s arms, tucking his face against his neck. Bucky held on tightly, closed his eyes, and focused on the feeling of Steve’s breath against his skin. Trying to live in the here and now, with only Steve’s presence beside him. If he didn’t think beyond this moment, he could almost be happy again. He had his lover back, he had a new lover, _and_ a new body to explore.

“You are so ridiculous,” Steve murmured.

“Yeah, well, you still love me.”

Steve smiled against his skin.

“Yeah, I do.”

Bucky almost smiled. This was what he would fight for.


	9. One Foot In Front Of The Other

It was the hardest fight Bucky had ever fought, convincing himself to take Wanda up to the penthouse and not just send her off on her own while taking Steve to his apartment. He didn’t much care if it would be rude, not with how little time they might have. He _did_ care that someone was trying to destroy the world, though, so he put his arm around Steve’s new, broad shoulders -

“They’re not new, Buck.”

\- and led him and Wanda through Avengers Tower’s posh lobby to the VIP elevators. Soundlessly, the doors opened, closed behind him, and JARVIS whisked them upward, two-hundred storeys, to the Avengers common room. Bucky still wasn’t sure how he felt about how Tony had gathered them all here, like collectibles, but he had to admit he liked having his team nearby. Maybe it was sad, but they were his only friends. That, and it was easier to gather everyone quickly in situations like this.

The silence of their ride was broken as they stepped out onto the floor. Bruce and Clint were in the kitchen, cooking by the smell, and arguing about ingredients. Natasha had commandeered the T.V. area, watching the new Star Trek, and spreading her intelligence files across both coffee tables and all the chairs, like a horizontal collage of data. Tony stood from his place at the dining room table as they entered, as did the man at the opposite end. 

Bucky’s mind skidded to a stop. He didn’t know the tall attractive man, and the only non-Avengers allowed here were Pepper and Jane. The guy didn’t look comfortable either, though he did look familiar. Standing with his arms crossed, he frowned at Tony before looking to his small group, but Bucky couldn’t quite place him...

“Well, I’m here,” the stranger said, and it took Bucky a moment to realize he was talking to Steve.

Warmly, Steve said, “Sam,” squeezed Bucky’s arm, and then left his side. Bucky’s arm itched at the lack of warmth, but he didn’t follow, just watched as the two men embraced in a hard back-slapping hug. There was a closeness between them that made Bucky uncomfortable, even jealous, because he didn’t have that with Steve any more. “Thanks for this.”

“Of course,” Sam said, though he seemed no happier. “But I’d really like an explanation at some point. Not that I don’t _mind_ hanging out with the Avengers, just…”

“Tony, really?” Steve groaned.

Bucky couldn’t help himself. Stepping forward, he laid his hand on Steve’s back, just above the waist of his pants, and asked, “What’d he do?”

“Hacked all of Samuel Wilson’s files,” Tony announced smugly, “United States Air Force pararescueman, honorable discharge, test pilot of the EXO-7 Falcon. Master’s in psychology, works at the VA as a counselor.”

“He was nosy,” the man, Sam, said slowly with an expression of pure disappointment that rivaled Steve’s.

“I will not apologize,” Tony said, sitting down once more and crossing an arm over his chest while gesturing with the other. “It’s not like we have any idea what’s going on. You’re running around with a psychic detective who looks like your old flame, Arnim Zola may or may not be alive, we’re bringing random strangers into the Tower because they’ll be necessary to defeat a dragon - am I making myself plain? We have no intel. I _gathered_ the intel.” Sniffing, he dropped his hand to the table by his tablet. “It’s what the spy queen would have done.”

From the entertainment area, Natasha said exasperatedly, “I wouldn’t have _announced_ it, Tony.”

“It _was_ rude,” Bruce interjected.

Bucky sighed and did not rub at the headache building behind his temples. When Steve took a half-step back, leaning into him, he didn’t even snap at Tony. For Bucky, focusing on anything other than Steve was nearly impossible. That simple contact was enough to fill his senses with _Steve_ , his warmth, the scent of his shampoo, his skin just a layer of cotton away. Bucky spread his fingers, letting them press against Steve’s back, just feeling him close and alive. For a brief moment, his whole world narrowed to just that contact point. 

Then Steve shifted and stepped on his foot. Catching the hint, Bucky made himself focus on what had to be done, on the needs of his team, and cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam. If I can have everyone’s attention, I’d like to introduce our _other_ guest, and I’d like to make it quick.”

Picking her way through her documents, Natasha was the first to join them. Then Clint - who had managed to get chopped onion in his hair - followed by Bruce who took a moment to set their burners to low. Sam sat down, posture stiff and military. Wanda was a stark contrast to his calm, fidgeting at Steve’s side with her head down and her hair hiding her face. At another time, Bucky thought he’d offer her comfort, but now he couldn’t think of the words.

When Bruce joined them, Bucky slid his hand along Steve’s waist to curl about his hip. He relished the strength of the body under his hand and the furnace of heat Steve was emanating. Before, he’d always felt cold and Bucky liked this change. A lot. 

Bucky took a deep breath, and nearly choked on it when Steve started speaking.

“Wanda is our missing arm. The last piece of the puzzle to ensure the tipping point goes the way we want it.”

“Explain this tipping point again,” Natasha demanded. She’d seated herself on the table’s edge by Tony, body only half-turned toward Steve. “Why is Captain America running around like a dog at your bidding?”

Bucky bared his teeth out of habit at her veiled insult, but there was no heart in it. Truth was he couldn't imagine turning away from Steve, fool's errand or not. He trusted Steve on a level no one else could reach, now or then. It was why he had agreed to the cluster fuck of a plan, even when he knew it would destroy him if he had to watch Steve die again. 

Taking his eyes from Natasha, Bucky chose to look at the wide stretch of Steve’s powerful shoulders under his white cotton shirt, the small waist that he thought he could span with his hands. The proportions of Steve’s body were mesmerising, and he preferred staring at it to listening to empty arguments.

Another step to the right and Steve stepped on Bucky’s foot again before he spoke. If he’d taken offense at Natasha’s thoughts or words, he didn’t show it.

“The vision I showed you is of the future. A great threat coming and a moment when the safety of the world hangs in the balance.” Steve held up his hands, then lifted the left up high. Bucky could see how the muscles of his back rippled with the movement. “The world can burn,” he switched hands to show the other option, “or we can save it. To save it, we have to help the vision along. Identify the location -”

Tony raised a hand. 

“I’ve been working on that. Color me surprised when the landmark buildings matched a certain block in good old Manhattan.” Tony swung himself forward, grinning, “But wait, there’s more, Johnny.” Bucky didn’t bother to ask who Johnny was. “I did some digging on the place, had JARVIS snoop into every business on the block, and you’ll never guess what I found.”

At Tony’s pregnant pause, Bucky gave in and asked, “What did you find, Tony?” in as dry a tone as he could muster.

Rolling his eyes, Tony leaned back again, “So excited; keep your pants on. One of the buildings had a ridiculous amount of traffic going in and out of it. As in not commercial use. Little more digging,” Tony waggled his eyebrows, “and I found a government black site. No one will admit the place exists on paper, but there’s government encrypted files passing through it regularly.”

“Govern-” Bruce began, but Tony waved his hand frantically in the air.

“No, no, wait! It gets better. The encryption? Standard S.H.I.E.L.D. code. It’s a _S.H.I.E.L.D._ black site.”

“An unofficial one,” Natasha corrected, gesturing to her paper collage. “I can’t find mention of it anywhere. I’m going to have to ask Fury about it, if my digging doesn’t get me a lead.”

Both impressed and unnerved, Bucky nodded to Natasha.

“Well done,” he flicked a glance to Tony, “both of you. Now we know where, we just have to figure out who, and why.”

“What feels left out,” Clint muttered.

“What?” Sam asked, making Bruce and Steve snort in amusement, while Clint grinned.

“Anyway,” Steve said loudly, “now we know where the tipping point occurs, we have to gather all the people.” He gestured about at them all. “The hard part, will be figuring out _when_ it happens. My vision didn’t have any clues, as far as I saw.”

“So what do we do, then?” Bruce asked. He hadn’t sat and his arms were crossed tightly across his chest. “Wait and pray?”

“No,” Steve said firmly, “we keep doing what we’re doing. We look into this black site, we try to find Zola, because we need him there, too. Most likely, the people at this black site know about the coming event, they might even be behind it. The more we can find out -”

“Hang on,” Clint waved his arms, “you’re saying _S.H.I.E.L.D._ is behind a massive, global… attack?”

When Steve didn’t answer right away, Bucky looked to find his lover glancing between Clint, Bruce and Natasha. Their expressions were equally disbelieving, though Bruce looked pissed off, and Natasha cool. Bucky could only imagine what their thoughts were like.

“Tony,” Steve said unexpectedly, “would you mind saying that aloud?”

Startled, Tony sat up. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. I was thinking, that you never know who you can really trust. Look at my company: Stane. I trusted him with my life, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is, well, a secret government organization with little to no oversight. It’s the perfect breeding ground for corruption.”

“Corruption Fury doesn't know about,” Bruce pointed out.

“Unless he’s in on it,” Tony said, and winced when Natasha’s hand came down hard on the table by his own.

“Fury _isn’t_ in on it, _if_ there’s anything to be in on.”

“I’m with her,” Clint said quietly, “but I have to admit I agree it’s possible.” Natasha opened her mouth, but Clint added, “It’s the kind of situation that allowed you to escape the Red Room, Tasha.”

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Natasha nodded once, then set her mouth in a grim line and locked away whatever emotions she was feeling. 

“I want to bring Fury in on this.”

“I have no objections,” Bucky said, “so long as no one else has any.” When no one spoke, or shook their heads, Bucky nodded. “Okay, well, this is Wanda. Wanda is… well…”

“Wanda is a mutant, like me,” Steve finished for him. “She’s better off explaining her abilities to you all than I am.” Turning to the young woman, he asked, “Will you be alright if Bucky and I….?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Looking up, she flushed. “Go on, go. It’s been so long, I don’t know how you waited.” 

Bucky only distantly heard the response, all his attention fixed on Steve after… that. Somehow, he hadn’t expected Steve to announce it, to everyone in the room, that they were going off to make time. Steve twitched, probably listening to Bucky’s thoughts, but his lover wasn’t looking at him. Everyone else was, but Bucky ignored the looks his team shared as Steve turned to Sam.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

Though he lifted an eyebrow, Sam nodded.

“Sure, man, but you -”

“Everything you want to know,” Steve assured, finishing the thought, and turning to Bucky. Bucky wasted no more time, turning from the table and heading for the elevator. With his arm around Steve’s waist, Bucky pulled him along, keeping him close.

“Uh, Cap?” Tony called.

“Tomorrow, like the man said,” Bucky called, not breaking his stride. Silently, he thanked JARVIS as the doors opened as soon as they walked up. It wasn’t that he would have minded waiting, he was just so close to having Steve alone and to himself that he could taste it. And Wanda was right, it had been _so long_. Knowing Steve was his Stevie… changed everything, put an itch in his hands and under his skin. It wasn’t even a question that they’d spend the entire evening in Bucky’s apartment, alone; Bucky couldn’t stand the thought of anything else. Hell, the idea of having Steve out of his sight was excruciating. He didn’t relish waiting for when they both had to go to the bathroom.

Snickering, Steve bumped their hips together.

“Really?”

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbled, “I have every right to be clingy.”

Steve’s arm slipped about his waist, their bodies pressed together, side-to-side, from hip to shoulder. It caused some of the tension in Bucky to unwind, spooling out on the floor. Steve was here. He was safe and he was _here_. At least for the next little while.

“Yeah, you do. I feel it, too. Bucky,” the elevator doors opened, but Steve’s gaze pulled Bucky from his apartment, “if I’d known there was so little time, I would have come sooner. I didn’t… _know_ , not until I was here.”

The words, the reminder, it all hurt too much. Bucky didn’t blame Steve, though. He couldn’t, not with everything that had been thrown his way. It was his wretched luck that whatever good he managed to find in his life was gone too quickly. He should have gotten used to losing the people he loved by now, but he was a stupid fuck who couldn’t get it into his head not to get attached. None of it was Steve’s fault. They were together _now_ and Bucky was going to make sure they stayed together. He would fight for it with everything he had.

Since he didn't have to say it aloud, Bucky just leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Steve’s lips. Then he pulled him through the open doors, into his space. 

“It doesn’t make you stupid to love, Bucky,” Steve said, trying for sincere, but falling into scolding. 

Bucky wanted to snort, but the sound that came out was closer to sad than anything else.

“You saw how well I dealt with you dying, Stevie. Or, how I didn’t deal with it at all. And we’re doing this all over again.” He closed his eyes, pulled Steve to a stop, and then into his arms so he could press their foreheads together. “I can deal with broken bones and shattered organs. Give me pain, and I’ll get through it, but I need something to fight _for_ , Steve. I can’t do it just because it’s right or whatever. I need to _believe_ , but it’s been so hard to believe lately. It just doesn’t matter so much when I’m all alone, Steve.”

Slowly, Steve ran his hands up Bucky’s arms, then down again.

“By lately, you don’t mean a few days, do you, Buck?”

“One moment, I was closing my eyes while falling into freezing cold water, ready to die.” Bucky spoke quietly, but insistently as his hands closed tightly on Steve’s arms. “The next, I opened them in a world where everyone was dead _but_ me. It’s like living in my own private hell, Steve. Everyone tells me it’s normal, that I’m doing great at adapting, but all this? It feels wrong, like when you dream and you know you’re asleep. Like I’m just waiting to wake up from a nightmare, but I never do. It just keeps going and going… until you.” He swallowed painfully. “You are the only thing that feels real.”

Steve’s lips pressed together into a thin line, but he hadn’t stopped touching Bucky. No, he’d leaned closer, hands running along his shoulders, down his back, then up again. Like he was slowly trying to warm Bucky up, as if he could chase the chill of the ocean from Bucky with his hands.

“I’m going to go mad if I lose you again.” Bucky was as sure of that as he was of his own heartbeat. “I can’t do it, Stevie.”

“You won’t,” Steve said quickly, his hands finally stopping on Bucky’s shoulders and clamping down. “Bucky, it’s not a foregone conclusion. We can do this.”

Bucky lifted his arms to trace the familiar planes of Steve’s face. The same, yet so different from his memories. He’d expected to be confused between the Steve from his past and this new version, but he never was. He knew who was in front of him, who he was talking to.

“I never forgave myself for leaving you alone,” he admitted painfully. “Each night, when I closed my eyes, I imagined all the ways I’d failed you, all the pain you must have gone through. All the fear and loneliness.” Bucky could feel tears stinging his eyes. “After I left, you had nobody.”

“No, I still had you.” Steve swallowed, but his voice and gaze was fierce. “I still had you, Bucky, you just couldn’t be there.”

“You must have been so scared,” Bucky murmured, lowering his face to Steve’s shoulder and turning it to press his cheek against the warm skin of Steve’s neck. He could feel a strong pulse under his cheek, Steve’s _life_.

Only, Steve didn’t let him cuddle. He slammed the heel of his hand into Bucky’s sternum, stealing his air.

“And it was _worse_ when I woke up again and you were _dead_.” 

Bucky blinked, rubbing at his chest with the ball of his hand.

“I’m still not sure how that works,” Bucky said ruefully.

“Neither do I!” Steve half shouted, then bit his lip at his own raised voice. “I died still thinking you were coming back, and then you _weren’t ever coming back_ , but you _did_ and I did… and… this _sucks_ , I know it sucks, but you can’t give up.” Steve’s voice cracked. “There’s still hope. There’s still a _chance_.”

“I know,” Bucky said simply. “You think I would go through all this mystical shit if I didn’t think there was a chance still?”

Steve huffed and rolled his eyes at Bucky.

“Well you’re _acting_ like it’s game over.”

“You expect me to act like it’s nothing?” Bucky spread his arms out. “Like I can just roll with the punches endlessly, a goddamn wind up toy?”

Steve’s eyes flashed again and he poked a long finger into Bucky’s chest.

“I expect you to hold it together, to help me get through this the same way I’ll help you, and falling apart isn’t going to do it, Buck. I know you’re scared, and you’re jealous, and you’ve been lonely for too damned long, but I’m here now.” Steve’s expression softened and the stabbing finger dropped to curl about Bucky’s hip. “I’m here and we can do this, alright?”

As Bucky let out a long sigh, he felt the anger go out of him.

“It’s very possible I’m physically incapable of saying no to you.”

Blue eyes twinkling, Steve smirked.

“Good, then feed me. You interrupted my sushi with your stupid food noises.” Turning away, Steve headed for Bucky’s kitchen.

“Made no noises,” Bucky defended inanely. “I merely know how to appreciate something good when it’s in front of me.” 

Stopping, Steve gave him a look over his shoulder that sent tingles down to Bucky’s toes. 

“Besides, you owe me a dinner date, mister.”

Bucky sucked in a breath and really took Steve in, especially his really small ass. It was very possible the old Steve and the new Steve were of the same size in that department, this one just had more muscle where the old one had been sinew and bone. When Steve smirked again and turned away, Bucky was _certain_ he put a swagger into his step, making his ass jiggle with every step. More than anything, Bucky wanted to get his hands on it and see if it was as perky as it appeared under the ill-fitting cargo pants.

“Feed me and you’ll get a chance to find out,” Steve called, this time not turning around and disappearing around a corner.

“There are take out menus on the fridge,” Bucky called back once he had blinked the parade of increasingly filthy images from his eyes.

Poking his head out of the kitchen, Steve narrowed his eyes and demanded, “You forgot how to cook?”

“They do it better!”

Grinning as Steve rolled his eyes and disappeared again, Bucky followed. Good food and Steve to himself all night? Yeah, even with all the death and destruction, he thought he could make it work. Steve was right about one thing, he wasn’t going to give up.


	10. Sex at last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter posted was out of order! Ch0 is SUPPOSED to be Sex At Last

At some point between ordering and getting the food, Bucky had realized he was herding Steve from room to room. Not pushing, or even consciously moving him, but he’d steered Steve about from the moment they’d walked into the Tower. Steve either hadn’t noticed -

“Until now.”

Okay, he hadn’t noticed. Steve grinned at him around a mouthful of Pad Thai and Bucky’s stomach swooped. His smile was still gorgeous. And the way the tendons on his neck shifted and stood out when he tilted his head was nothing short of stunning.

“You really don’t have any issues with this mind reading thing, do you?”

Bucky took a moment to think about it, but no, he didn’t. Having Steve in his head was just a faster way to talk to him. They’d always been so close, this was no different -

“Bet it would be if it was someone else in your head.”

“Hmm,” Bucky mused, but had to nod. That was true. If Nat was in his head, or god forbid _Tony_ …

Steve snickered and Bucky grinned until he realized… he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken aloud. They’d been sitting like this for a half hour, eating, Bucky thinking and Steve answering. Like a conversation, only with half the words. Even now, Steve was eyeing him like he’d said it all out loud, wary and a little nervous. It was… well, Bucky wasn’t sure what it was.

“It’s been nice,” Steve said quietly. “People usually hate it when… I’m…”

“Natural?” Bucky suggested gently, curling his hand about Steve’s wrist. He could only imagine how hard it was to be unable to keep out of other people’s heads, the place everyone felt the safest. How angry people must have gotten, and how many friendships had Steve lost because he was different?

“Pretty much,” Steve murmured. “Even Scott had his moments, and he was raised with telepaths.” Steve shook his head “You, on the other hand, took to it like fish to water. Even before you found out I was your Steve.”

Bucky spread his hands.

“I guess it means I’m really lazy.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve elbowed him.

“Nah, you just like having another level to flirt on.”

Laughing, Bucky winked, and they both turned back to their food. It _was_ nice that he could just think about getting his hands on all of Steve’s muscles, his ass, his chest, and Steve not only heard, but could _see_ it. The things he pictured, licking along Steve’s clavicle, up his throat, biting that sexy tendon -

Steve choked on his noodles and Bucky grinned.

“Jerk,” he muttered, then deliberately set aside his food. 

Intrigued, Bucky set his aside too - even though he could eat another few cartons - and was rewarded as Steve twisted and climbed into his lap. With a knee on either side of Bucky’s hips, Steve pushed him back until he was lying against the couch cushions, his hands going to Steve’s hips even though he didn’t think Steve would need the support. In fact, _Bucky_ might need the support. Steve’s thin t-shirt was obscene. The white cotton hugged every muscle, the dip between deltoids and, _god_ , his biceps. They were all but daring Bucky to dip in his tongue and see if they were as defined as they looked. And wasn’t Steve’s chest a thing of beauty? The muscles so cut they pushed at the cloth as if they wanted to break free. Bucky was so close now that all he needed was to tilt forward and he could bury his nose in Steve’s genuine cleavage. He was giddy with the possibilities; these riches so close and so touchable.

“You know, you dispelled my worry that you wouldn’t like the new me pretty damn quickly,” Steve murmured, eyes hooded as his hands slid up Bucky’s shirt, pressing just hard enough Bucky couldn’t mistake them for anything else. “This, however, was not how I wanted our date to go.”

Bucky blinked at that, finding it hard to drag his mind away from the perfect way Steve filled out his shirt.

“It wasn’t?”

“Nope,” Steve drawled, popping the ‘p’. “You remember, we always talked about what we’d do if we ever had money?”

Again, Bucky blinked, because how could he have forgotten? Nights huddled together for warmth, especially the bad ones when Steve was sick, when they’d talk about a better life. A life where they weren’t half-starved or half-frozen, where they didn’t have to worry about bills, and how they’d afford Steve’s medicine. They’d -

“Go out every night,” Steve was beaming at him, hands sliding back down to Bucky’s waist, bunching up the shirt and then sliding beneath it over his abdomen, “them upscale, five star restaurants where you had to wear a suit. We’d sip wine and laugh and no one would know we were together because rich men had dinner together all the time.”

“You were going to take me out?” Bucky clarified.

“Yeah, to this great place in Manhattan. Gonna get you all dolled up,” the hands under his shirt slid slowly higher, Steve taking his time, “show up dressed to the nines. Take you out on the town, Buck, just like we always said. Order the most -”

“Expensive thing on the menu,” Bucky licked his lips, his mouth gone dry. Jesus, it was _really_ Steve, _his_ Stevie. 

“Everything on the menu,” Steve corrected, his smile small and secretive. “Especially the dessert menu. I mean, god, you put it away these days.” As he listened, Bucky couldn’t stop his hands from wandering, testing his welcome. When Steve didn’t protest, he traced the firm stretch of Steve’s black pants over his thighs, the muscles under his hands warm and hard. “We’d talk about nothing, everything, catch up. I’d hear about the service, the Avengers, and I’d tell you about my service, the school, my work…” 

Bucky cupped the vulnerable bones of Steve’s knees, enjoying the way they fit into his palms, then shifted his hands back, up over Steve’s thighs, to his small, porn-perfect perky ass. The globes fit into his palms like ripe peaches, so round and soft, with an underlying firmness of muscle that had Bucky wanting to sink his teeth into them.

Voice gone breathy, Steve leaned back into Bucky’s hands.

“We’d stay for hours, flirting and talking and just… being us again.” 

Bucky had to admit, it sounded nice, almost as nice as Steve under his hands and Steve’s hands on him. Said hands tried to creep up his shoulders, and Steve let out a huff of annoyance, then slid them free of Bucky’s shirt. Bucky almost protested, except Steve gripped the collar and pulled, prompting Bucky to sit up so the shirt could be tossed aside.

“And then you’d take me home, pretend you were a gentleman, and could leave with a just a kiss.” Chuckling, Bucky stopped as Steve brushed their lips together, leaning his weight on Bucky’s chest. “But I’d invite you inside and you’d ask about my books, and my art, and my DVD collection while I made coffee and we pretended it wasn’t _inevitable_ what came next.”

“Inevitable, huh?” Bucky swallowed, returning his hands to Steve’s amazing ass. “You… thought about this a lot?”

“Every detail,” Steve murmured, sliding down Bucky’s waist until his lips could tease along Bucky’s jaw, kissing and nipping up to his ear. “It’s changed a lot, as I got older, but… Yeah, I think about it a lot. Having you back.”

The warmth in Bucky’s chest was heavier now, the arousal twining with an emotion so raw it seemed inescapable.

“You have no idea what it means to me that you still want me. After all this time. That you wanted me for so long.”

Steve’s teeth nipped at Bucky’s earlobe as his hands slid to his arms.

“You’re it for me,” Steve murmured, “even when I fought it, Buck. You’re all I ever wanted.” He sat back and looked thoughtful before asking, “Didn’t notice how much Scott looks like you?”

Bucky could feel himself puff up like an offended cat, the memory of Steve’s ex raising his hackles. Scott was Steve’s first, was the one to teach him how to touch and be touched.

“No, Buck, you did that. I remember everything, our first time… our last. Your hands on me,” taking Bucky’s wrists, he pulled them off his ass and under his shirt, “I've been dying to find out if its like I remember. That’s how our date’s supposed to end, Buck. Will you show me? Will you make me yours again?”

The vulnerability in Steve’s eyes bordered upon fear. No matter how much Bucky liked the thought of having Steve under his hands, the things he saw in Steve’s eyes made him uneasy. He hesitated, palms pressed to Steve’s taught stomach, and the fear grew.

“ _Please,_ ” Steve whispered. 

Bucky touched Steve’s shoulders, dragging his palms up those chiseled muscles to his strong neck and the tendons he’d appreciated since he’d first seen them, then higher, until his fingers slid into Steve’s short hair. Steve’s scalp was hot under his fingertips, his hair soft.

“You were always the one for me,” Bucky swore, and the tension in Steve’s muscles released. 

“Bucky,” Steve whined, and Bucky had to hold in a laugh when he sounded exactly like Bucky’s memories, impatient and demanding. Of course, Steve knew anyway, thumping his hand onto Bucky’s shoulder, but he ignore it and pulled Steve down into a kiss. It was a heated, fiery thing, full of teeth and tongue. Bucky tugged on Steve’s hair, enjoying the little gasp Steve let out as he did. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Bucky said between kisses.

Steve turned from his head, pressing sucking kisses along Bucky’s jaw.

“Was thinking you could help with that.”

“Hmm,” Bucky hummed, dragging his hands down Steve’s sides, “I was kind of enjoying being manhandled.”

“Guess it would be a first,” Steve said, his tone grumbling in displeasure. Some of the frantic energy in him was gone, though, and that was what Bucky wanted.

“I like you like this.” 

Bucky couldn't stop touching that powerful torso, tracing the lines of muscles barely hidden by the soft shirt.

“You liked me before plenty.” 

Though he was still complaining, Steve sat back. Slow and deliberate, he stretched his hands above his head, flexing all those muscles a mere foot from Bucky’s face. He wasn’t ashamed to say he cursed under his breath, reaching for Steve again, then blinked when his hands were slapped away.

“No touching,” Steve said with a smirk, “If I gotta do the work, you gotta sit there and enjoy the show.”

“Oh, I’m enjoying it already,” Bucky bucked his hips up, pressing his hard cock into Steve’s ass. Steve rode him like a pro, barely shifting on his lap, and kept smirking. Like he wasn’t phased by Bucky’s antics, which he’d missed _so much_. His partners during the war so rarely wanted to play or have fun. It was always quick and dirty and -

“If you don’t stop thinking about them,” Steve snarled, “I’m leaving.”

Bucky blinked, startled, and blurted, “Wow, that has to _suck_.”

Sighing, Steve looked down, and Bucky suddenly understood the fear that had been eating at Steve. His abilities added a whole new element to their relationship. It had been fine so far, but sex was a different animal. Physically they could be perfect together, but Bucky’s thoughts could be a huge turn off.

Steve didn’t respond to Bucky’s deduction, so Bucky brushed his thumbs against his hips.

“You’re better than all of them,” he said softly. “Stevie -”

“I see them,” Steve muttered, “when you think about them.”

Bucky winced, then cleared his throat, because he _wanted_ this, and wasn’t about to quit because of one little hiccup.

“Get up, Stevie,” Bucky said, “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

Which reminded Bucky that all Steve knew about sex he’d learned from his ex…

“Why are we so bad at this?” he groaned, putting a hand on his face.

Steve laughed suddenly.

“It’s a rush, you know? Being let in so deeply without any reservations. Yes, I can see the images of your previous lovers if you think about them, but the fact I can _feel_ that you truly, honestly, don't mind me in there is intoxicating. Like nothing else. Nobody’s ever done this; just opened the door for me and given me everything with no reservations, no conditions.” Steve shifted, and then slid off the couch. “And you forget, I learned sex from _you_.”

Steve gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled it up in a slow, sensuous movement that bared the ridged line of his abdominal muscles to Bucky’s eyes. Slowly, he lifted it higher, his arms tangling in the obscenely stretched cotton, and higher, exposing the pecs that Bucky had spent too much time imagining already. They were tight and full, standing out like a pair of delicious breasts. The nipples were pink and hard, begging to be sucked, and Bucky made a sound deep in his throat. God, he wanted to put his mouth all over Steve.

Steve threw the shirt away, his hair mussed now, and grinned at Bucky.

“I love how much you like what you see,” Steve said, sliding his hands down his own belly to the buckle of the belt holding up his pants.

“As soon as you let me touch, I’ll make sure to show you how much. With my mouth.”

“Hmm,” Steve slowly unbuckled his belt. “Looking forward to it.” Bucky made another strangled sound as the belt was slipped through the loops and clattered to the floor. “I remember the first time you got your mouth on me. I was what, seventeen? We hadn’t tried anything without our clothes on, anything more than hands yet, but you talked me out of my clothes. You kissed me goddamn everywhere, but when you got your mouth on my cock, I nearly blacked out. You were so damn good with your mouth, Buck.”

Bucky was torn between listening to Steve and putting all his focus on the long fingers unzipping those pants with horrible slowness. Pale skin and golden hair was revealed inch by inch, and Bucky had to use all his control to stay seated.

“Going to be better,” Bucky promised hoarsely. “Just let me put my mouth on you.” 

Bucky was begging, he knew that and didn’t care at all. He put his hand on his own cock, squeezing himself to have any kind of relief for a brief moment, since Steve was bent on torturing him. Steve just hummed at his plea, sliding his hands up his thighs. His pants were unzipped, but his cock was still hidden away. His fingers slipped into his waistband, but didn’t pull his clothes down and show Bucky what he wanted to see. 

“You remember when you fucked me that first time? I thought I was so dumb, you tryin’ to make time with me like I was a girl, but then you got your fingers in me and _Christ_ , Buck. You were so slow, so gentle, made me come just like that. Just on your fingers. Nearly drove me mental.”

“You are driving me mental right now,” Bucky said, giving himself another stroke though his pants, hissing at the sharp pleasure. He was already so very hard.

Smiling, Steve lifted his foot and placed it on Bucky’s thigh.

“But I’m still wearing shoes, Buck,” he said, his voice teasingly high.

“Fucking Christ,” Bucky cursed, but slid his hand up Steve’s calf as the other fumbled with his laces. The tiny hairs on Steve’s leg tickled his palm. He ran his thumb over the strong, thick bone and felt the muscle flex under his touch. The sheer power in Steve’s body was exciting him even more.

As if Bucky wasn’t taking off his shoes, Steve said, “After I came, you remember what you did? How you cleaned me up, then slowly slid inside me. You were so goddamn big, Buck, and you felt so much better than your fingers.” Bucky tossed his shoe away and Steve switched the other into Bucky’s lap. “This body’s never felt you. I _need_ to feel you.”

Bucky chucked the boot aside and stood, but Steve danced away.

“Uh-uh,” he tsked. “Sit down.”

“I thought you needed me,” Bucky said, following Steve around the coffee table. “I thought you wanted me to claim you.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, his voice breathless as he backed away, “but you wanted me in charge. I wanted you to throw me on the bed and ravish me.”

Darting forward, Bucky caught Steve around the waist and knees, and threw him over his shoulder. Steve yelped, hands gripping onto Bucky’s waist as he was carried through the apartment. Impatient and aching in all the right ways, Bucky kicked in his bedroom door and threw Steve onto the bed. Though he was probably two hundred pounds of muscle, he gasped and bounced, wide-eyed, pupils dark with arousal. Bucky just grabbed his pant legs and tore them off, leaving Steve naked on the bed.

“Finally,” Bucky whispered. 

Steve was like a wet dream, his arms and legs akimbo. His shoulders were the stuff of magic, wide and muscular, but not bulky and veined. His chest narrowed down to a stunningly small waist, with hips that were almost fragile. His legs went on for miles, long and sexy. Bucky couldn't wait to just wrap them around his waist. 

As always, his eyes were drawn to Steve’s pecs. The nipples were so pink, so lonely; they really needed some attention. He licked his lips, already feeling the flesh under his tongue. Steve blushed - thank _God_ , he still blushed - and pushed himself up the bed, raised himself onto his elbows, and spread his legs.

Bucky wasn’t going to wait any longer. He crawled onto the bed, between Steve’s legs, and over his torso. “Bucky,” Steve whispered as Bucky lowered his head and latched onto Steve’s chest. He closed his mouth over one pec and sucked hard and wet, pressing his tongue against the little nub. Steve gasped, one of his hands tangling into Bucky’s hair, and pressed him closer. The taste of Steve’s skin, the scent of his body, had Bucky moaning. It was the same, so familiar, as was the way Steve twitched under his hands, his body straining with pleasure.

Bucky switched to the other side of Steve’s chest, desperate for more contact now that he was there, actually had Steve under his hands. Steve spread himself even wider, letting Bucky deeper into the vee of his legs, and Bucky moaned at the lovely pressure against his cock. He thrust his hips against Steve, pleasure swamping his mind as he bit and sucked at any flesh he could reach, greedy and desperate for anything, everything he could get.

“Jesus,” Steve gasped, his hands desperately fumbling at Bucky’s pants, “just fuck me already,”

Bucky let go of the flesh he was sucking on, looking at his handiwork. Steve’s whole chest was covered in hickeys, nipples puffy and much darker than before, while glistening with wetness.

“I don’t have any lube,” he admitted.

Steve cursed a storm, startling Bucky, but also making him laugh. His hands dragged over Steve’s sides, enjoying the closeness and the feel of all that smooth skin and hard muscle. When he stopped swearing, he growled, “Get these damn clothes off. I am not done with you.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky laughed, pushing down his pants and underwear while simultaneously kicking off his shoes. Together, they had Bucky naked in moments, and Steve’s long fingers clawed at his shoulders, scratching in their haste to pull him back up. Bucky went, if only to get his mouth on Steve’s tits again, and found himself groaning when Steve’s hand snaked between them and wrapped around both their cocks.

His own cock was already hard, wet at the tip from precome. Steve gathered it up, rubbing his palm over both their heads, and arching beneath Bucky. Then his hand slid down, over their shafts and squeezed. Involuntarily, Bucky’s hips pumped forward into that tightness, and Steve gasped. When he moaned, Bucky’s heart leapt, because it was _him_ , it was his Steve, and he felt so fucking good.

While his mouth enjoyed the new expanse of Steve’s chest, his hips thrust into Steve’s hand. Steve was humping up, into him, against him, and soon they were a writhing ball of want and need. Bucky mouthed at Steve’s pecs, trying to stay quiet out of long habit, but Steve had no such qualms. His moans and groans were wanton, eager and needy. Over and over he said Bucky’s name, and, “yes,” and “more,” as they ground together, chasing their pleasure. 

It was over all too soon and without warning. With a shout torn from his throat, Bucky found himself tipping over the edge, coming violently. His teeth sank into Steve’s muscle, as his hips rabbit-fucked into Steve’s hand. Come jetted out of his cock onto Steve’s belly in long ribbons. By the time he was empty, his balls ached, and Steve was tugging hard at his hair, trying to pull his head away.

Carefully, Bucky pulled his teeth free, guilt squirming into his afterglow because he could taste blood. When he opened his eyes, he winced, as blood beaded from the bite mark around Steve’s nipple.

“Sorry,” he started to say, but Steve pulled harder on his hair, making him meet his eyes.

“It’s fine, Bucky,” Steve said with a soft smile, “It was just a bit painful after I came.”

“After…?” 

Bucky looked down, finding Steve’s cock softening against his belly. He hadn’t noticed when Steve was coming, so lost in his own pleasure, but he didn’t think Steve would lie about it. He’d always been greedy for his own orgasms. 

“The biting helped,” Steve admitted, his hand carding through Bucky’s hair instead of yanking. “New, but nice.”

Relieved, Bucky huffed out a breath and heaved himself to one side. His back had barely hit the bed before Steve was curling up against him, pulling at his arm, and making himself comfortable with Bucky Barnes for a pillow. To say it was a surprise, was an understatement. Bucky had always liked cuddling, liked to feel another body against him, their heartbeats calming. But Steve had never let him. Sex was welcome, but cuddling after was met with outrage, as though Bucky had suggested something horrendous and demeaning. He’d never known why, but suspected it was due to Steve’s miriad self esteem issues. It was hard for a man to be as fragile looking as Steve, failing to come close to the ideal man and protector. Steve had hated anything that even hinted at him needing help, or being less manly, less independent, or feminine. Frankly, Bucky was surprised he’d even allowed penetrative sex back in their day. He had no idea how much he’d wanted this stretch of warm, relaxed body against his until he finally had it.

“I was stupid,” Steve said against his shoulder. “Wanting you to hold me was never weak, but it was one more thing… that made all those assholes right about me.”

Bucky tightened his arm around Steve, then used his ankle to pull one of Steve’s legs over his own.

“I just always wanted you close,” Bucky murmured, his fingers trailing the enticing dip of Steve’s spine.

“I wanted it, too.” Steve nuzzled Bucky’s skin, as if trying to be nearer when they were already pressed together as close as they could get. “I’m sorry. I’m here now and I’m a _little_ less stupid.”


	11. Stop Being Gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch 11 was posted before ch 10. Ch 10 is Sex At Last.

If Bucky had been lucid, he could have predicted every moment of the dream. It was one of the recurring ones, one of the bad ones, that left him shaking and sobbing and nauseated when he woke. One of the ones he never talked about with anyone, though he probably should. He’d only ever told Peggy, back after he’d had it the first time. She hadn’t known he’d had it more than once. At least, he hadn’t told her. Sometimes, he thought she knew anyway.

The beginning was nice enough. He was walking through Brooklyn on his way home. The worst part was how excited he was, how _happy_. Bucky couldn’t wait to get home, see Steve, get a kiss. It’d been so long, _so long_ , and he missed his best guy more than anything. The feeling was so real, so tangible, and wonderful.

And as always, it crashed down about his ears the moment he stepped past the threshold. The smell of death hung heavy in the air, thick and cloying, like Bucky imagined it must have for whoever had found Steve’s body. He knew the scent, but in his dream he just laughed and called for Steve.

“You burn dinner, Stevie?”

As always, there was no response. Just a crushing silence unnatural to New York City, even in the dead of winter. 

“Stevie?” Bucky called again, before heading deeper into their tiny flat. It was only two rooms, a bedroom and a living room, no place for anyone to hide. Of course, Steve wasn’t hiding. He was dead, lying on the bed, wrapped in all their meager blankets. It hadn’t been enough to keep him warm, to keep him healthy. 

“Steve?” Bucky asked, his voice thunder in the silence.

The body didn’t move, and Bucky noticed the heat was off. (Hadn’t been on. Steve couldn’t afford to run the heat). Drawn, helpless and terrified as he now knew something was horribly wrong, Bucky was pulled to the bed. His hands drew down the blankets, showing Steve’s face. Pale, bruised about his eyes, blood he’d coughed from his lungs running down his chin and neck. Bucky’d never seen it, but this was what he pictured: blue lips, blue eyes, ice-white skin. His Stevie, dead and alone.

Sensing the thought, Steve’s hands clamped down on Bucky’s. Frozen, iron bands, they held Bucky in place while he struggled to get away.

“You left me,” Steve hissed, fire burning in his eyes. “You left me to _die_.”

“No,” Bucky whimpered, struggling, “Steve, no.”

“I waited. I trusted you. Look where it got me, Bucky. Dead, waiting for you to come home.”

“No!” Bucky shouted, tugging at the hands holding him, tugging and tugging and -

“Bucky!” 

Jerking awake, Bucky found himself staring into Steve’s alarmed, but _warm_ blue eyes.

“Stevie?” 

“Yeah, yeah, sweetheart, I’m here.” Steve murmured, rubbing Bucky’s hands where he held them trapped in his own. “I’m here. I’m alive.”

Swallowing hard, Bucky yanked Steve down against his chest and muttered, “Stevie,” as he held his love tightly. Steve wrapped his arms around his chest, holding onto him, settling at the awkward angle as the fear and terror bubbled in Bucky’s chest.

“I’m here. I’m alive,” Steve whispered again, over and over, until Bucky finally stopped shaking. Until the dream receded and Bucky could let Steve sit up again. He did immediately, and Bucky reached up to push the few strands of hair that had fallen onto his forehead back where they belonged.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled.

“It’s okay, dummy,” Steve huffed, rolling his eyes. “I mean…”

Bucky frowned as Steve trailed off, chewing on his lip. He looked away, then back, searching Bucky’s face. It didn’t look like he was finding what he was looking for because he kept staring, nibbling at his lip, and not saying whatever the hell it was he was holding back.

“Spit it out. _You’re_ the mind reader.”

Huffing, Steve shook his head, but stopped chewing his lip and smiled at Bucky fondly. At least for a moment. Then it slipped away into a serious, nervous look.

“He didn’t think he was alone.” Bucky blinked, not quite understanding what Steve was saying. “I know I have abandonment issues and I was kind of a dick earlier, but… I remember, he… I… I remember. I thought you were there, at the end.” Ducking his head, Steve played with Bucky’s fingers. “It was probably the fever, or the hypothermia, or both, but… I remember you holding me, at the end.” Bucky’s throat clicked as he swallowed. “I told you I was cold, and you told me it was okay. That I had been strong long enough, and… I don’t remember anything else.”

“You thought I was there,” Bucky whispered.

Steve nodded, hesitantly, as if he thought Bucky was going to become distraught by his confession.

“As far as I could tell, it was real. I was so scared… and then you were there.”

“I would give everything to have been there.” Bucky swallowed, but his throat wasn’t any wetter and it hurt. “I never forgave myself for leaving you alone.” He shifted, looking at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. “I mean, I knew you were going to be gone before me. I tried to make myself accept it, but I promised myself you would never be alone, that you wouldn't have to go through that alone. And you did. I didn’t keep that promise.”

“Love, no,” Steve grabbed Bucky’s hands and squeezed hard. “Bucky, I’m trying to tell you, there’s nothing to forgive. You don’t remember it, fine, but _I_ _do_. You were there. You held me and I wasn’t scared anymore.”

Bucky rubbed at the new moisture on his eyes, feeling the sting of salt.

“It’s so hard to forgive. Especially myself.”

“You were there,” Steve whispered, “and when I remembered it again, when I was a child, I wasn’t scared of what had happened because you’d been there. Maybe it wasn’t real, but I was so sure you wouldn’t leave me, that you’d be with me, and you _were_. That’s… It meant a lot to me - It _means_ a lot to me. That’s… that’s why I told you. Not to hurt you more.”

Bucky turned away, unable to look at Steve’s face, unable to accept his forgiveness.

“I know,” he murmured, voice tight with the tears he was trying to hold back, “but it’s something I have felt for a long time, something that pushed me forward. The need to atone.” 

Quietly, Steve pressed himself to Bucky’s back, wrapped his arms around his chest, and held on tight.

“I love you,” Steve said, lips against Bucky’s shoulder.

“I love you, too.” Bucky wrapped his hand around Steve’s where it rested on his chest. “It’s hard,” Bucky swallowed again, “even thinking of letting go.”

“I…” Steve’s head pressed hard where his lips had been. “I can’t believe I’m asking you to. I’ve been so mad, for so long, that you went and died in that war and left me to wake up alone and… and I’m asking you to take a chance and do it all again…”

Bucky closed his eyes, and laughed wetly.

“You always liked doing things the hard way.”

“That doesn't sound like a no,” Steve murmured, right into his neck. Bucky shivered at the sensation of hot air brushing his skin.

“Have I ever said no to you?” Bucky exhaled. “I promise to try.”

“I promise to hold on until you come for me,” Steve answered. Bucky closed his eyes and held onto Steve tighter. He wasn’t sure either of them could keep their promises.

\----

Bucky woke with a jolt when the mattress dipped under someone’s weight. He was rolling over and reaching for the intruder before he even realised what he was doing. One of his hands locked on a surprisingly defenseless throat, and he came to his senses at the same time as a shout of his name echoed in his head.

Steve.

“Fuck!” Bucky jerked back, letting go of Steve and staring at him with wide eyes. Though he was surprised by his reaction, he was also ashamed. He could have killed Steve. “I’m sorry! I’m not used to sharing a bed with anybody and… I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Steve waved Bucky’s concerns away, “it just surprised me because there was no warning, no indication in your mind that you felt threatened. I’m not used to people acting… out of habit?”

“Muscle memory,” Bucky supplied. “One of the effects of the serum. My muscle memory is really good.”

“Then all your muscles impress me,” Steve said, wiggling his eyebrows as he climbed further onto the bed. Hesitant after his outburst, Bucky laid back, and was surprised as Steve crawled completely on top of him. It was then that he noticed that Steve was still naked. The hickeys on his chest had gotten darker through the night, and his nipples were still a little puffy from the mauling they had received. 

Bucky raised his hands to touch them, thumbs brushing the sensitive nubs, and Steve gasped quietly and caught his wrists, but didn't try to stop him. So Bucky did it again, harder, rubbing the quickly-hardening nubs. All he needed was to look at the flush spreading down Steve’s neck to feel the stirring of his own cock. Steve was so pretty it boggled the mind.

“God you are beautiful,” he whispered, rubbing still, watching as Steve tilted his head back. His own breath caught at the sight of Steve moving his hips slightly, his cock filling up and thickening as Bucky watched.

“You touch me just like I remember,” Steve said, already breathless.

“I wouldn’t dare to be so... careless,” he tugged lightly on Steve’s nipples, “before.”

A cry caught in Steve’s throat at Bucky’s rough touch, his breath dying away even as he vocalized. It wasn’t something he’d ever seen Steve do, something new, and Bucky found himself captivated. 

Steve opened his eyes, dark and full of desire, and said roughly, “Don’t be gentle anymore.”

 _God_.

Bucky wanted. He wanted to just have Steve, own him, possess him. Every single primal fantasy he’d ever had came up to the forefront of his brain. Pushing Steve face down on the bed and fucking him like an animal while biting his neck. Spreading his legs and sucking his cock like his life depended on it. Grabbing Steve’s hips and holding him still and open as he fucked him sloppy and open, and then licked his own mess out of him. 

Bucky put his hands on Steve’s hips, thumbs digging into the bone to make himself calm down, except Steve ruined the effort when he said, “I’m ready for you.”

It was a little like being electrocuted. His mind stuttered, then just stopped. He stared up at Steve, totally blank in surprise, body frozen mid-breath. Seconds ticked by as his brain processed the words, because if Steve was ready, he had left, gone and bought lube, come back and _stretched himself_. All while Bucky slept. All while Bucky didn’t know. And now he was here, asking for it _rough_.

“You are the best thing that ever happened to me.” Bucky heaved himself into a sitting position, keeping hold of Steve’s hips. “Both then and now.” He said the words through clenched teeth as he lifted Steve up to kick the remnants of the sheets away from his legs. He was aware of Steve’s hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight enough to bruise, as he shifted his grip so that he could hold Steve up one handed, his arm bruisingly tight around his torso. It brought them close together, Bucky's nose at Steve’s chest and he opened his mouth to get at a lovely pec again. 

As he sucked a new bruise into Steve’s skin and Steve shouted his name, Bucky reached for Steve’s ass, trailing his fingers down the crack and meeting the promised wetness. He groaned, mouth seeking out a nipple and sucking harshly, mauling the little nub with his tongue and lips.

He pushed two fingers in, his digits sliding wet and slick into Steve’s hole, the flesh soft and giving. He felt like there was no air in the room, like he was losing his mind with how much he wanted Steve right now. He wasn’t thinking straight when he pulled out his fingers, ears ringing with Steve’s moan, grabbed his own cock and lowering Steve until he could feel the tip pressing against that lovely open hole.

“Yes.” Steve was panting above him. “ _Yes_.” 

Steve pushed against Bucky's hold, his thighs flexing against Bucky’s sides as he tried to lower himself, fuck himself onto Bucky’s cock. Hanging to his rational brain by the barest of threads, Bucky complied with the unspoken request and lowered Steve. They both cried out when Bucky breached Steve’s body, sinking into that tight, slick channel, pleasure spreading through him, pushing the rest of his self control away. 

Around him, Steve burned, clenching down on him, enveloping him in smooth silk. Bucky cried out when he was in all the way, Steve’s weight resting on his lap, his hard cock pressing into Bucky’s stomach. Steve’s fingers dug into his muscles hard enough to hurt, and the sting only served to drive his desire higher, into a mindless rut, as need raged inside him like a tornado. He fucked up, as much as he could in the position, and growled his frustration at the results into Steve’s skin. He shifted his grip again, those tiny hips fitting into his hands like puzzle pieces, and the next time their bodies met was harder, deeper, _finally_ what he needed. 

Everything narrowed down to the tight clench of Steve’s body on his cock, Steve’s fingers scrabbling at him and the wet, sucking sound of fucking and pleasure burning behind his eyelids. It was quick and dirty, two bodies tangled together in a fever of lust. Steve was crying out, calling Bucky’s name, cursing and saying, “Yes, more.”

Steve’s orgasm was what pushed Bucky over the edge. The scent of Steve’s come filled the hot air between them, and his body locked down, clenching rhythmically. It wiped the last rational thoughts out of Bucky’s head. He pulled Steve down as hard as he could, going as deep as possible, and let go. He shouted as he filled Steve with spurt after spurt of come, hips pumping ineffectually as the orgasm slammed into him like a tidal wave - huge and unstoppable. 

How long they sat like that, bodies tangled together, Bucky still deep inside Steve but softening already, he didn’t know. Steve was draped over him, his heartbeat against Bucky’s ear, just starting to slow. The air was thick with the scent of their sweat and come, mixing together and creating a unique memory that Bucky wanted to keep in mind forever. He stroked Steve’s back in long, soothing caresses, enjoying the warm flesh wrapped all around him. 

Curiosity and not-completely-sated-desire led his touches lower, to the small, tight curve of Steve’s ass. At least this time around he had an ass to squeeze, and Bucky did. He loved just touching Steve, also loved the way it made him tighten around Bucky’s softening cock. He let his fingers trail into the crack of Steve’s ass until he met the place they were connected. A soft whine left Steve and Bucky shushed him, tilting back his head to peck a quick kiss to his lips. Steve’s head lolled back as Bucky let himself trail his fingers over the stretched rim, enjoying the heat and the wetness, wondering if he wanted to just flip Steve over and maybe lick him clean, push his tongue deep into that open puffy hole and just lick every trace of their coupling away.

“You’re insatiable,” Steve said, shivering in Bucky’s arms. “God, and so strong. I’ve never felt so tiny in this body.”

Bucky pulled back enough he could get a look at Steve’s hips, and yes, he could see a neat row of freshly formed bruises roughly fitting his handspan when he put it over them. He should feel bad about hurting Steve, and if Steve was the skinny guy from before he would be terrified, but this Steve was solid and powerful, glowing with post-coital pleasure, and looking relaxed as a sleepy kitten. Somehow, Bucky felt an illicit thrill instead of guilt at all the marks he had already left on Steve.

“I am not a cat,” Steve mumbled.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, going back to stroking Steve’s back. Sure enough, Steve let out a sound that was suspiciously close to a purr. “Then why are you purring?”

“Shut up,” Steve said, his head coming up as he shoved lazily at Bucky’s arms, “at least I managed to get us having sex. How did you not have any lube?”

“Random hookups with the threat of a sex tape being available on the Internet for all to see were not appealing.” Bucky thought back to what he learned about Tony’s past. “For once I learned from somebody else's mistakes.”

Steve snorted, the sound adorably unattractive, and settled against Bucky. His head rested on Bucky’s shoulders, his hands sliding lazily along Bucky’s biceps. Comfortable, happily peaceful in Bucky’s arms.

“I thought if there was one thing I could count on, it was you being prepared.” 

“Even if I did get it up with somebody, I probably wouldn't bring them home anyway.” 

Bucky shifted them, slowly lying down. Steve’s breath hitched when Bucky’s cock slipped free of his body, but went with the movement and stretched out on top of him, head still resting on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky gripped a fistful of covers and pulled them over them. He didn’t want Steve to get cold.

“Oh,” Steve said, nuzzling into Bucky’s throat. “I guess I should be happy, huh? That you loved me so damn much, but… I’m starting to just feel sad that you were so alone.”

“I was busy, aliens and such. No time to mope.”

“You can’t lie to a telepath,” Steve said.

“I can try.” 

He trailed his hands down to Steve’s ass again, squeezing those tight globes and reaching curious fingers to the fragile little hole that had housed him just moments before. He didn’t try to push in, but settled on just stroking gentle fingertips over the slick, puffy flesh. He wondered if some of the wetness he felt there was his come leaking out of Steve.

“We should get up,” Steve said without moving. “Go see if the others have anything… What we have to do next.”

Bucky held onto Steve tighter, thinking about the hickeys and the bruises and how they would look in a few hours.

“I don't want to stop touching you. I haven’t had my fill of you yet.”

“You’ll never have your fill of me.” Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s shoulder. “That’s why I love you.”

“I can try,” Bucky smirked, then let his face soften. “I love you too, I hope you know. The new you, the body, the powers, the snark. The whole thing.”

“If wishes were fishes…” Steve sighed and sat up, leaning his head on his hand. “I wish I hadn’t stayed away.”

“I wish I knew to look for you,” Bucky said. 

Bucky didn't want to blame Steve, even if some part of him was inconsolable with grief. The last months, weeks - the _lifetime_ he’d lost had taught him that grief would be his faithful companion, no matter what he did. There was no need to make other people miserable too, especially Steve, who had suffered enough in both lives. Bucky couldn’t imagine how betrayed Steve must have felt when he realised he wasn’t like the other kids, when his gifts manifested so early, when the ghost of his past self appeared to take away his potential life. Steve must have been so angry and so alone, nobody to share that burden with. Bucky never wanted him to hurt, in any shape or form.

“The Professor came for me,” Steve said softly. “He understood. So did the others at the school. They all loved hearing about you, you know that? You were my sun.”

“You did the best you could in the circumstances.” Bucky would never feel comfortable with the knowledge that child-Steve had been in a way forced to live up to expectations of his past life. Bucky knew how it felt to be suddenly made the one person responsible for making the hopes and dreams of other people come true.

“I railed against it in my teens,” Steve said with a smile. “While everyone else was rebelling against their teachers and their parents, I was rebelling against _me_. I dropped all my art classes, I joined the basketball team, I took up pacifism.” Steve laughed. “It was an _interesting_ couple years.”

“Pacifism,” Bucky repeated, thinking back to how eager Steve was to pick a fight. Now and then. “I bet you were bad at it,”

“ _Terrible_.” Steve laughed again, throwing his head back. “I was trying so hard not to be me. I thought, if I’d just been given a normal start, I’d have been a different person. That it wasn’t _fair_ that who I was had already been decided, so I fought that as hard as I could.” Steve bit his lip. “And then Scott and I started dating.”

“Chose the pretty boy, didn’t you?”

Smiling, Steve flung his arm across Bucky’s chest. 

“I sure did. Dark hair, big eyes, strong and smart, had a way of looking as if everything came easy to him, friends, school, sports… and then _he_ pointed out how much he looked like you, how much he was just _like_ you, and I had a _crisis_. I think part of me knew I loved him because of how much he was like you, but it was different when it was pointed out. I almost broke up with him, but then the Professor said something that really… resonated. He said that everyone has a hero to look up to, but not everyone got to know them as well as I did. And I realized, if I wasn’t _me_ , then I didn’t get to have you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t wait for somebody that wouldn’t come, that you let yourself live. Even if I hate the guy’s guts.”

“I wish I hadn’t,” Steve said, his smile fading, “I know I loved him, but… I was trying to replace you, not make something new.”

“You didn’t know that when you started seeing him. You were happy, right?”

Steve nodded, trailing fingers over Bucky’s sternum.

“When you realized you weren’t true to him, you broke it off. You made a mistake, but didn’t continue the lie once you knew it was a lie.”

“Small mercies,” Steve mumbled, then made a face, “God, just imagine if I’d still been with him when you found me. _That_ would have been a mess.”

“The shield reflects lasers,” Bucky said with vicious relish.

Laughing again, Steve said, “That’s my point entirely, but you’re being ridiculous, you know that? I _left_ him because he wasn’t you. I was only with him because he was like you.”

“Yeah.” Bucky turned on his side, making Steve slide from his chest, and propped himself on his elbow to stare at Steve. “But you had _sex_ with him, and you _care_ about him.”

Steve made a face.

“I suppose I can’t stand the mention of Peggy Carter.”

Bucky grimaced.

“I have seen how history made her out to be my great love, but she wasn’t. You realise, she was there only because you weren’t, and I needed at least one person in my life that knew about you?” Bucky reached out to touch Steve’s face, trail his fingertips trailing over those stunning cheekbones to his ear. His skin was still a little flushed from their sex. “I never loved her, nor did she love me. Not like a lover anyway.”

Smiling tightly, Steve said, “But you had sex with her, and you cared about her. I _am_ glad you had her, though.... mostly.”

“Marry me,” Bucky said staring at the light in Steve’s eyes. He hadn’t planned to say those words like this, but he had always _wanted_ to say them. Back in their old life it would have been impossible, but now that the words were out of his mouth Bucky wasn’t going to take them back. Not even as Steve’s eyes widened and widened, his mouth opening and closing in surprise.

“M-marry you?” Steve repeated. “You’re… You’re not just saying that ‘cause I was engaged to Scott, right?”

“You are in my head, you know exactly why I said that. That I always wanted to say that to you.”

Steve flushed further, opened his mouth, and closed it one more time. Then he yanked Bucky’s head down into a burning kiss. “Yes,” he said, kissing Bucky over and over. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Bucky kissed back, clumsy with the smile that was stretching his lips, but Steve didn’t seem to mind.

“Today,” he said between kisses. “Right now. No waiting. Just you and me.” He looked at Steve again. “I don't want to lose this chance again.”

“Okay. Anything you want.” Steve laughed again. “We’re getting married!”

**Author's Note:**

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**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover art for "Rogers, Psychic Detective" by cleo4u2 and xantissa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12519376) by [Lovesfic (me23)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/me23/pseuds/Lovesfic)




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